Gunpowder
by LoneGothic
Summary: AU. In the urban decay of Konohagakure, an unwanted meeting finds Haruno Sakura tangled into the dangerous company of two criminals of the Akatsuki: one blond enigma and a man her friend wants to kill. Deidara x Sakura x Itachi
1. Prologue

... right. I would like to say that this story is a landmark for me, because it's the first story that is written with the purpose of not _just_ being what everyone wants to read.

Or then again, it might not be true.

This story was _entirely_ inspired by a single piece of fanart (named "Dangerous") by Arriku (on DeviantArt) – my first reaction to it was _mafia, like whoa._ That, or it was _that looks so cool._ And every other idea just after that.

**Summary **–  
_  
In the urban decay of Konohagakure, an unwanted meeting finds Haruno Sakura tangled into the dangerous company of two certain criminals of the Akatsuki. While the sinister web of the underground organization may throw her reality into an odd imbalance, it is those who pursue them that threaten Sakura's life. And somewhere between avoiding the inevitable and kissing chaos, Sakura finds it's becoming harder to disengage herself from the blonde enigma of an artist and his partner._

**DISCLAIMER: ... let's... not go into the details of ownership, because I see the lawyers coming after me already... **

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**PROLOGUE**

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**xXx**

He had walked up to _her _on one sultry spring weekend, obviously undeterred by teenagers sporting pastel pink hair – _natural,_ she insisted, and definitely _not _a fashion trend – who crouched in the shadow of huge statues in market squares, and that was what she always thought as the weird thing. _He_ came up to her and then everything had just started off from that simple conversation: every moment, every turning point, _everything _happened because of that afternoon and sometimes, she wasn't sure if that catalytic meeting was a curse or a blessing (it brought danger, but it brought him along too). Or was that because he _was_, metaphorically, danger?

But when she first met him, she didn't really think much about it. No suspicion, no remarks on his odd dress fashion (had a leather fetish that one, even on an oddly warm day) and certainly no questionable twist in her stomach that she would later reflect on.

The only thing Sakura thought was _hey, I thought Ino went to buy ice cream, _but dispelled the thought immediately because Ino, in her right mind, would _never_ consider wearing a leather bomber jacket. And it – _he_ – was definitely male; although his hairstyle definitely suggested otherwise, he was bold enough to casually shrug off his tinted-red (expensive and most likely Armani) sunglasses, flash her a toothy grin and she _swore _that there was a cocky, confident glint in his eyes.

_Playboy._

He greeted her with a simple, but engaging smile, no 'hey, you there' or 'missy', or any other salutations that would be a waste of time, and then nonchalantly pulled out a wrinkled scrap of paper from inside his jacket, "You wouldn't know if I could find any place like _this,_" he said, as if it was completely normal to ask teenagers crouched at the foot of statues, and who also bewilderedly stared at him, directions, "around here, would you, un?"

He talked weird, but Sakura ignored it, dismissed it as another weird 'foreigner' trait and he was, wasn't he? Everyone in Konoha knew well enough to not to wear leather in a place infamous for its fires and unexpected heat waves.

But at that time, he was ordinary enough, showing her a scrap of paper that turned out to be a piece of the roadmap, most likely one with a page viciously torn out, and then the hardly identifiable Polaroid of a shadowed red Kawasaki motorcycle stapled to it suddenly meant otherwise. As unrevealed as the object was, Sakura could recognise it as the trademark symbol of a certain infamous garage in her area.

Who seriously didn't know Yamamoto's 'repair shop' around here?

She shrugged and frowned. "Why would you want to go _there_?"

He had a certain shine in his eyes (_that's a really nice blue, _Sakura noted) and grinned knowingly to himself. "That's for me to know, un."

She shrugged and brushed away a clump of hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, wondered where the hell Ino was. "Suit yourself then. That motorcycle's basically the sign for Yamamoto's garage-thingy," she started, "and if you _really_ want to go there..." she stood up, gesturing to the main road left of her for the stranger's convenience, "... well, you go down _there_, turn left at the street just before the Seven-and-I-Holdings and go down that road – keep going straight, and ignore the alleys – until you reach some sort of... battered old sign and it should have directions to the repair shop."

He nodded his thanks and was about to tuck his map away, when Sakura added, "And oh; Yamamoto charges a lot for the guys who wear leather and think they're _'all that'_."

To that, the stranger laughed – it was nicely odd laugh – and reached over to scuffle her hair lightly. "Thanks, un."

In the five seconds she used to neaten her hair again, he had disappeared, lost in the busy crowd of ecstatic teenagers and weekend shoppers. Ino however, came back almost immediately to fill in the vacant position, with two cones in hand and pointedly nudged her in the ribs, "I can't believe you let that one go." Sakura only laughed and licked at her ice cream absently, and added that he was looking for Yamamoto's garage. It was an unspoken rule in her part of Konoha that almost anyone going to that place was usually trouble.

Half-disappointed (her parents would _kill_ her if she ever mixed with anyone like that), Ino left it at that, before Sakura took it upon herself to describe exactly how the stranger had looked like her blonde friend – "–he had your hairstyle too!" – and started about how nice the blue of his eyes were.

She didn't think anything of it later.

**xXx**

Two days later, just before homeroom started, Kiba crashed his way inside the room and whirled upon Sakura, who was the only one he knew would willingly listen to his rambling, and who, by reflex, shrunk away from him.

"You have _no_ idea," he began, plunking down on the seat next to her, "how _close_ I was to getting here late–" because nobody _ever _was late to Ibiki-sensei's homeroom, "because y'know, my bike just kicked it just two days ago and I just thought _'hey, if I leave it at Yamamoto's garage, with a load of cash, maybe it'd be fixed by Monday'_, so I went last night and he wasn't there, right?"

_I'm listening– no, wait. You left it at _Yamamoto's _place?_

"Yeah, so he wasn't there, but that... assistant of his was – what's his name? Ka-what? Kanna? Kane? – anyway, so I left it there and said I'd pay him later once it was done and that I'd come back this morning to get it."

_... and then?_

"So. I get there this morning and there's... well... like, a roadblock cutting the whole thing off. Damned if I know why–" Kiba leant towards her, an imploring look on his face and jokingly clasped her hands in his, "–so, since _you_ live so nearby, Sakura, can you please, _please_ go and check up on it? Please?"

Her neighbourhood wasn't the safest place in Konoha and _why _would she ever go there by herself–

"I'll even come with you!"

_... can't argue with that then._

**xXx**

This part of the neighbourhood had always resulted in unfavourable encounters for Sakura; the first time she had decided to wander around and make sure she didn't get lost in the different part of Konoha she was living in, someone decided to take it upon themselves and try to grope (or mug) her. He managed to get away with very sore eyes, but the second person who tried the same thing was less fortunate and any chances of him starting a family (she would pity whoever had a father like that) was immediately extinguished. Sakura herself felt rather guilty, but thankful that she had assisted in improving the gene pool.

And every other time she had ended up at this street, it always kept up its the unkempt appearance, with broken glass bottles strewn about, a stack of throw away boxes tossed about (and the occasional rat burrowing around) and grafitti coloured over the grey, dismal walls. And no homeless people slept on that street, because _really_, who would do something that stupid and stay _here_?

It was a good place to hide a drug-dealing, rather criminal garage a street away, but as Kiba had said rather stubbornly himself, Yamamoto definitely knew how to handle motorbikes. Sakura wondered exactly how much he adored his _Ninja 500R_, to be willingly wading through this filth and muck. On the other hand, she certainly waded – or rather, ran – through the same filth and muck when she took a 'shortcut' on umbrella-less rainy days back to her apartment – not _willingly_, of course, but rather forced by the wet weather.

_This is definitely going to be bad._

Kiba, however, knew the way; Sakura had never actually been there, only seen a beaten-down, rusty sign and wisely avoided the directions. But by the time they had approached the place where the sign had been, it was gone. The plate of metal had been ripped down recently.

"Nah, don't worry. I know where it is," Kiba said, with a shrug, and started off down a side-alley that she would have preferred not to associate herself with. But anything for friends.

"Hey, you're not worried are you?" he asked, without looking back at her, as she tentatively followed him, "Because trust me, I know the way–"

Of course she knew that. Didn't stop her from being a _little_ worried, though. She fidgeted, carefully stepping over a discarded takeaway carton, feeling out of place with her school uniform.

"Hey, we're almost there," he called out, excited, "And seriously, Sakura– HOLY SHIT."

The roadblocks he had said were there in the morning were obviously gone and replacing them was an entire squad of Konoha Police members, swarming around the garage.

_Knew I shouldn't have come here._

**xXx**

"It's all evidence, you see," the stern-faced officer said mechanically, "And I apologise, but until we've checked and marked _all_ of them, I don't believe we could–"

Sakura caught the suspicious look directed at Kiba, almost knowing what the man was thinking: _we obviously can't trust you, because if you're a customer here, you're probably either a druggie, or a criminal, or an associate of Yamamoto, etcetera, etcetera._

Her friend wasn't saying anything, and by the looks of it, the officer was looking at them, expecting them to leave. Well, she didn't willing go through that street and that alleyway to be turned down.

"Look..." she started, clasping her hands together and smiling sweetly, "ah... officer, my friend dropped it off here only last night and apparently, Yamamoto-san wasn't even around to pick up his bike... you can even ask his assistant to prove it. Surely, we could–"

A glare was directed her way instead. "You can't do anything here. We treat our cases very seriously and besides..." he stopped and stared at Kiba, as if seeing him for the first time, "... pardon me, but did you speak to this assistant of his last night?"

Sakura almost huffed, when _she_ was the one who had pointed out that there was an assistant who picked up Kiba's motorbike yesterday, but was thankful that no more suspicious glances were thrown at her.

"We'll need you to make a statement, of course–"

"Wait, for what?"

He was ignored, while the officer pulled out a notebook and pen, and began to scribble down notes rapidly. "So," he started, not even looking up, "at what time did you enter this garage last night?"

Kiba looked frustrated, but went along, "Around six... six-thirty, I think."

"Co-operate and you may take your bike back without further delays. Did you see this assistant of Yamamoto's upon arrival?"

"Nope, only when I was in the garage."

"And what did you say to him?"

"Where's Yamamoto, can he fix this bike for me, will payment later be alright, and could it be quick job to fix it up?"

"And that's all?"

"... well... I think I asked how much it would cost, and that's it."

The man stopped scribbling and looked up. "Could you... describe this assistant for us?"

Sakura tuned out and looked around at the chaotic scene, at the officers almost tearing the garage apart, searching for evidence and swarming like a mass of–

–wait. Masking tape. _Masking tape._ What had happened here?

Her gaze flew around, searching, blocked by the figures of police officers standing in her way – _but what the hell happened here?_ Someone suddenly moved out of the way and Sakura caught a glimpse of a border of tape, framing a patch of concrete speckled with blood and–

A tiny fragment of red glass – or was it plastic? – lying among the dried rust-brown dots. And _shit,_ she definitely remembered seeing that mellow crimson shade before–

The officer's words: "Well, let's just say his assistant can't be found either–" suddenly drifted into her ears.

And then Kiba grabbed at her shoulder, shaking her slightly, "Hey, Sakura, what's wrong? Stop spacing out like that!"

_Wait, who was it, who was he, what did he even **look** like again..._

**xXx**

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_Seven-and-I-Holdings_ is the name for 7-Eleven in Japan.

There's a minor joke about 'improving the gene pool' in there – partially inspired by the Darwin Awards.

_Kawasaki_ is the more commonly known name for a manufacturing Japanese corporation, that's also one of the world's major manufacturers of motorcycles. Everyone's probably heard of it, but what the hey... There _is_ a line of sports bikes under the name of Ninja – the _Kawasaki Ninja 500R_ isn't as top rank as the other models, but it was the cheapest and most practical one I could find and... well, I _had_ to give Kiba a bike with the name 'Ninja'. Who couldn't? (Check Wikipedia for more info.)

I like Armani sunglasses, despite never being able to actually get one.

Review?


	2. Devil's Tango

Long trip away in China and Hong Kong. Much apologies. And then, there was Year 10; I want to pass compulsory education.

Erena G.T. Rose is not copying me. I am not copying Erena G.T. Rose.

As for the coincidence... well, it's amazing what good fanart can do.

**Summary **–  
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In the urban decay of Konohagakure, an unwanted meeting finds Haruno Sakura tangled into the dangerous company of two certain criminals of the Akatsuki. While the sinister web of the underground organization may throw her reality into an odd imbalance, it is those who pursue them that threaten Sakura's life. And somewhere between avoiding the inevitable and kissing chaos, Sakura finds it's becoming harder to disengage herself from the blonde enigma of an artist and his partner._

**DISCLAIMER: ... sometimes, I wonder why I bother. No owning of Naruto, not in this world anyway. **

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**CHAPTER ONE**

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**DEVIL'S TANGO**

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**xXx**

Halfway between the journey from school to home, it began to pour. Weather in Konoha was not made of gentle mists or golden sunshine, or really, anything considered 'nice' – just like her little corner of Konoha (not and never _home_), it was sudden, beyond comfortable and exactly like a smack of reality in her face.

The rain came down heavy.

_Holy–_

An umbrella-less and quickly becoming drenched Sakura swore and dove for shelter beneath the cover of a barbershop that didn't seem as rundown as the other stores nearby. No shopkeeper came to glare at her for her intrusion, and believing herself safe for the meantime, she dropped her schoolbag and sank down on her haunches. She'd wait it out – give or take, it would just be ten minutes. Seven if she was lucky, and maybe there wouldn't even be a thunderstorm afterwards.

Fifteen minutes and an offer by a barber to wait out the rain in his store (Sakura declined: _no thank you, I'm not that stupid_) later, she was shivering from the cold and desperately rubbing her hands over her slick upper arms in a hopeless attempt to keep warm. Delayed at a point where she was twenty-five minutes from home hadn't been part of her plans today; and by the looks of the it, the weather would be horrible tonight, if not getting worse if she simply sat here and _waited_.

Sakura wasn't a patient girl. Rainy days weren't uncommon during these seasons either.

There was one path – the safer of two that she knew – where it was simply going by the sidewalk and road in clear _public_ view, and it was the clear public view that, most likely, made it the safest. Men didn't drag off little helpless girls into alleys, where others would watch and see, and report it to the police in exchange for a hefty reward. That route was twenty-five minutes away from home.

And then, there were the filthy back alleys, deserted wretched places that even beggars and rats shied away from. Ten minutes, more if she had to dodge behind walls and avoid an unfavorable crowd that rarely gathered there from fear of police suspicion (drug dealers, the occasional drunk, and any other idiot who wanted to get a face full of the mace she kept in an unnoticeable pocket), less if she ran.

She looked up from her pale knees that had grown paler with the cold, stared into the rain and then at the huge puddle that was starting to become a larger body of water.

_Well_. She didn't want to jump over _that _any time soon.

Her eyes drifted slowly to a soggy origami boat floating down a steady stream of rainwater on the road. They followed the paper vessel, guided by the lull of a gentle water current–

–until it slipped out of sight by being carried into a gutter. _Oops, there it went, down with the weeds and the trash and everything else that comes up when it rains._

... _well._ There'd be flash flooding tonight, no doubt.

And, it _was_ getting cold, darker, and Sakura doubted that the streets would be safe in weather like this.

_Decisions, decisions_, she grumbled mentally and bit down on her lower lip, turning her sight back at the pool that was growing only inches from her feet (she'd have to jump over it sooner of later).

There was a sudden flash, and her mind was made up (_alright I'm going!_), then thunder cracked in the not-so-distant distance, loud and threatening and too close for comfort. She snatched up her schoolbag, jumped – _here it goes, Leap of Faith!_ – over the gradually growing puddle and landed just short of the edge with a slight splash that sent water flying up into her socks.

Decided: laundry to be done _today_ because she'd get inevitably to her apartment-not-home soaked, and Sakura started off at a frantic run.

Back alleys and rats crawling around in takeaway cartons couldn't be as bad as drowning in the temperamental weather.

**xXx**

Two alleyways later, Sakura considered taking the long way back. She was starting to sorely regret her certainty that the route she was taking 'couldn't be as bad' as she had hoped, and again, unfortunately, horribly _annoyingly_, she was wrong. Walking through the usual muck _and _the few extra millimeters of water that had accumulated on the concrete was _bad_. Horrible. No amount of laundry could make her feel as if her school uniform could be worth wearing again.

She swallowed, tiptoeing unsteadily and as quickly as possible, because while rainwater in clothing would be harmless but wet, water soaked in the scum of alleyways _was not._

How she ever made it through and continued going left for three more equally filthy and sinister paths she didn't know, but when she recognized the neon green graffiti that she knew as a sign for _'you're close, Haruno!', _Sakura let out a sob of utter relief. Only three more alleyways to go, and then–

–_not home,_ she knew, but a place similar and a reasonable substitute for her last one.

She almost ran through the first one, where mercifully, it was less waterlogged, and when she was about to turn the corner–

–something within close proximity to her cracked against the ground.

She froze.

_... shit._

Sakura didn't flatten herself against the too-dirty wall, but she drew in a breath, warning signs setting off in her head. _Danger, danger, back away now, when the backing away is still possible, _blared her rational side; her irrational panicking other half screamed and screeched and forced her hand to creep towards the can of mace she carried.

While these alleyways were generally deserted and no one lived in these decaying buildings, it was dangerous place for an schoolgirl armed with only a razor blade knife, a can of mace and no gun. Gangs might not hang out around this place, and drug dealers couldn't risk being scrutinized by the police (again), and drunks deserved nothing more than an eyeful of mace (or alternatively, a kick in the... well, painful-to-males-area), but in the gloom when people weren't looking closely enough, something _always_ happened. She couldn't take the chance.

Time to turn back.

And then Sakura heard an audible terrified whimper, one that would belong better to a rat than a man, but a male's nonetheless and another voice–

–_oh shit_–

–a voice she was certain she _knew_.

"So where is he, un?"

_No. Nononono_no.

Voice and accent and odd little suffix-like ending attached too.

It was that... that _man._ The one that had asked her where Yamamoto's garage was, who had maroon glasses (almost blood red), who, _oh God_, was the reason why everything at that garage had happened two weeks ago and _shit, _mostly likely owned those dark glass shards, when they were once Armani shades that had belonged on his _face._

She imagined jabbing those shards of glass into his eyes, as the news report a week ago reported finally recovering Yamamoto's mutilated body swam up in her memories, like something unable to be unforgotten. What was worse was her own _willingness _to help send Yamamoto to his doom – _you idiot, you gave him directions didn't you?_

"One last chance, un."

She clapped her hand over her mouth, hoping not to let out any scream that gave her away, and knowing it wasn't time to run yet, but still wanting to, so badly, especially when there was a _murderer_, a deceitful, manipulative _murderer_ only steps away.

"Kabuto will only run back to his master, like the white rat he is."

_Kabuto–_

The person that the Konoha police force had mentioned to Kiba. The one that went missing, the only one that wasn't confirmed dead.

_Holy shit._

She could stay here, listen, get that evidence and run off to the law-enforcers that slacked off sometimes, but would help stop this psychopath – and that also came with the fate of dying brutally _very_, very realistic. Or... she could run the hell out of there, get away from something that had almost _nothing_ to do with her and let him get away–

Two seconds to formulate her two alternatives, and one more second to consider them, but it was enough for the man (_the prey, the rat being toyed with that manipulative bastard_) to give a final whimper that jolted Sakura out of her thoughts.

And then she noted that half-shattered mirror propped up on the alley wall in front of her.

Any thought of reflection, refraction and angles flew out of the window in that instant, _because she could see them_. All three of them – one whimpering man, the back of the murderous blonde who asked for directions so charmingly, and another that she had probably seen on a wanted poster somewhere.

And they could see her too, if they looked at the right angle.

_Oh–_

Something glinted, something almost directly to her left in the alley where everything was taking place, and there: propped against the wall was another mirror, glimmering almost innocently if it hadn't shone back at her, showing her terrified face and her hand still pressed against her mouth–

Sakura suddenly realized that there were more mirrors, all around the place, looking as if carelessly set, but had been laid out for a more sinister plan.

_So they could see any witnesses. So they could find them and kill them for interfering_.

How the hell was she still thinking in whole sentences?

It was time to go. While they were still distracted, while she left another man (_probably not innocent_) to die, while–

There was a shot.

She didn't gasp. She didn't do anything except freeze up, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe after hearing someone do away with another's life.

When there were more shots being fired, she used the noise to cover up her departure.

Sakura ran. There was nothing she could remember next, but she had run like the scared girl she was, splashing water up to her knees, up to the hem of her skirt and she was soaking wet and filthy, but that didn't matter because she spun in, out, tangling her way between labyrinthine alleys – anything, _anything_ to get away.

To hell with fears of thunder and rain and slipping and breaking her neck.

There was an exit, an alley with a way out and Sakura took it, almost slipping, as she fought her way out of that place. It led to an avenue she was familiar with – only five minutes away from her apartment – and the rain had increased, even heavier than before, but _to hell with it_, she ran. There was no time for hesitation, or doubt, or anything that slow her down.

It had been a glimpse, but it had been enough.

She'd seen those... those crimson clouds, outlined by a thin white edge, almost drowning in a sea of black that belonged to the colour of weasels and crows and cold obsidian stone–

_Like clouds at dawn._

_Akatsuki._

**xXx**

"There was a witness."

Deidara looked up from deciding which way would be best to twist the dead man's hand so it seemed like a suicide – something that was only necessary to throw off Konoha's Police Force for a while. One blue eye swiveled to him, not exactly believing it and not wanting to believe it. "... you had better be joking, un."

It wasn't worth answering that; he had worked with Deidara long enough and if the blonde didn't know that Uchiha Itachi didn't 'joke'... that was his own fault, wasn't it?

"Then why didn't you fucking run after him?!" His partner's gloved hands shoved the gun into the dead man's, not caring if it looked suicidal or not.

"Her," he corrected.

Deidara peeled off his gloves and examined his handiwork, crossed his arms because it didn't look _right_ enough and blamed his frustration on Itachi and his _goddamned _tendencies to be as detached and emotionless as a man could be. Inhale. Exhale. Kazuku had gone through something regrettable after killing a few of his partners; he himself had no desire to go through the same thing.

The Uchiha could not be killed. Would not be killed. Was not worth killing.

"... so... why didn't you run after _her?_"

It took a moment before Itachi answered, as if it was a chore to be done, "At the very most, she might have seen your back and it would have been... unlikely, at her angle, to see–" he waved his hand at the dead body, "–_his_ face. As for evidence, if she had been there for an extended period of time, both of us would have realised. And Konoha's Police Force..." he paused, "... they do not tend to listen to 'problematic' teenagers."

(Konoha itself didn't care about its problematic teenagers, caught sticky and awkward in their first double digit years; he remembered, of course. And why would its enforcers of law care about its teenaged population, save the times they were overdosing on illegal substances and finding their way into the seedier side of this city.)

"... problematic teenager, un?"

"Pink hair." A reasonable explanation.

That should have been the end of it all–

–(but it's really something blossoming out of that small seed, planted two weeks ago, when a explosive-happy murderer asked a girl at the foot of a statue, 'which way to the Yamamoto garage?'.)

**xXx**

The landlord had stared at her peculiarly as she entered the foyer of the building, most likely wondering why she looked like she did; Sakura ignored it but noted the reminder shouted her way ("The lifts are still broken, Haruno-san!") and instead dashed up the stairs, desperate to get back into the sanctuary of her apartment.

She rammed her key into the lock and twisted and almost dove inside – _sanctuary _– then doubled back and slammed the door closed. If there were neighbours to either side of her, they would have complained, as the bang echoed around her small, but humble abode, and Sakura gasped for breath and leaned heavily against the door. Her schoolbag was dropped carelessly beside her.

Doors. She appreciated the door now. What if it was a horrible and splintered slightly at the bottom right corner? It was like a second barrier to ward off all things bad and evil, thieves and murderers and _damn it_ – a sob broke free from her throat – Akatsuki members. As the sound faded away, she finally slid down and curled into herself, back still pressing against the door. Her head drooped forward, forehead meeting her knees, and she breathed hard, slower, trying to control her frantic breathing (_asthma, at this time, would be so goddamned unneeded_), waiting for any potential breathing difficulties to subside.

And when it did subside, there was too much salt and too much fear brimming in her, so she let _that_ one out, the tears spilling out onto her already wet and spoiled skirt, crying like a person diagnosed with death and waiting for the inevitable.

... maybe they didn't see her; after all, she had only, at the very most, perhaps revealed the right side of her face. It was unlikely official government records identified her by basic physical features – pink hair and green eyes, especially – and fingerprints... she didn't touch the wall, did she? A million other people might have touched that same piece of concrete and brick–

–a spray of blood flying, and the thundering crack of a bullet exiting a gun and entering a head–

–_don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it,_ she thought, clapping her palms over her ears, trying to erase that disgusting sound from her memory, _think about sound you could have made! Think about your life, __**what about your life?**_

Her footsteps, splashing in the water, maybe not audible over the crack of gunshots, but detectable by gimmicky technology; and there hadn't been anyone chasing her _then_. And yet, and yet, she also had been dizzy with adrenaline, her common sense replaced by fear.

But somehow, that didn't matter anymore, because her running – all desperate, heavy footfalls and messy splashing – _must _have led her to be seen by somebody–

It was a wrench thrown in the works; a vagary that had made everything crash; her perfect, repetitive clockwork of a life no longer making sense.

There was the urge to laugh hysterically and impractically, because after her fear and tears had been unleashed in waves of bitter salt, the hollow space was filled, replaced by the feeling of imminent doom, of death lurking around the corner in the dark.

_You're damned by default, aren't you?_

Sakura did laugh, because it was one of the few things she could oblige herself with, as hysterically and as impractically as she would have expected of herself, hiccupping into her hands in a fit of desperation, and then she moved her palms, pressed the heel of them into her closed eyes, pressed them _hard_ until she saw stars, or something of equally shiny, metallic, ephemeral dust, explode in the darkness; and _there_, _that_ was _enough_.

She stood up and began to stumble into her kitchen – a miniscule, cramped space with basic necessities – wanting something strong and alcoholic, but opted for tea, because a good cup of bitter tea was right at a time like now. It was only when she slammed her sunshine-happy mug with the grinning stupid face and pink daisies onto the counter – her favourite, and shit, it didn't get chipped, did it? – that she realized she was crying.

Again.

She needed–

–tea. Alcohol. Something strong, or something numbing, and maybe sleeping pills too–

–she needed to get out of her wet school uniform, and she needed to get a shower as well–

–or not.

She needed assurance, she needed confirmation, she needed her parents, her friends. And she needed to get out of a lonely little apartment and go back to a home where she didn't particularly belong, but where it was somewhere _safe_.

And above all else, she didn't want to die.

**xXx**

One and a half hours later, and after two more mugs of tea, her filthy school uniform was stripped away and tumbling around in the washing machine; while it did so, Sakura immersed herself in her tiny closet that served as a wardrobe and came out with an oversized sweater – her favourite, all fleecy, soft and smelling of _home _from constant use and the refusal to throw it out – and a pair of cargo pants that reached well past her ankles. It didn't matter how overly large they were; all _she_ needed right now was the familiar comfort of being at home and the clothes that belonged with it.

She brushed a stray strand of damp hair out of her eyes and set about to getting ready to leave the apartment and camp out at Ino's for the next year (just to be safe). She had to think about the inevitable: to think about what happened before she crashed her way back into the sanctuary of her single-person household, but how much of a 'sanctuary' would it be against a handful– no, an entire _group_ of murderers once they found her?

_No, wait, wait, __**wait**__– think this out Haruno, maybe they didn't __**see**__ you, per se, no one even ran after you–_

The best way to do this, Sakura decided, heading back to her kitchen, was obviously to mull over the whole thing with something that was a clear opposite to the soothingly bitter mugs of tea she had had.

_Something like **Calpis**_, she thought, and began to ransack the pantry for a clean glass–

There was a knock on the door.

She stopped, a sudden halt that left her motionless and frozen in place from the second she had registered that sound: there was someone at the door And nobody ever visited her, not her parents, nor her relatives, and she had specifically cautioned her friends that they should never visit this part of town while they were still sober and only at times when certain things were unavoidable (_"Hey, hey, Sakura-chan, they're fumigating my apartment and I need a place to staaayyy!"_) or for any school-assigned group work.

The conclusion her barely reasonable mind made: _it's them, them, them, them!_

She didn't move, but her eyes flickered to the door and fixed themselves onto it.

Sakura held her breath; it was almost a trigger for the next bout of knocking to start again.

_Oh God, oh God–_

Her legs almost collapsed underneath her, as they shuddered, heavy with all the weight of secrets and fears. She shoved her palms against her ears, pretended not to hear the knocking, the _damned knocking, go away, please, just go away, please!_

The last thing she wanted a mental breakdown at a time like this – _tip of the scales; life or death, Sakura? _– but certain things were unavoidable, like the people outside her door, and she needed all her courage and wit to be thinking properly for this. No, she needed Naruto's courage and Shikamaru's genius and Tenten's good hearted determination and Ino's malleable and oh-so effective people skills–

_Ino._

Ino, who could work people her way with just a look, who could slip a lie between her teeth, smile, and breeze away without so much a glance of suspicion, who got out of _anything_ and _everything_, who ran the best 'acting classes' taught 'exclusively' to herself, Tenten and Hinata. Ino, who had saved her from every playground bully with a glare and a sharp tongue, and _thank God, Ino_, was helping her save herself.

Sakura's eyes darted to the calendar, then to her own wallet, lying discarding on the kitchen bench, complete with her social security number, identification cards, and a single slip of plastic that marked her as under protection as an 'independent' minor by Konoha's Youth Protection.

**xXx**

It was taking a while. Too long in fact.

"Think we should...?" Deidara threw a glance to his partner, who (_heartless asshole_) didn't even respond. He knew that Itachi was already particularly annoyed today – there was a witness who escaped, a mere _girl_ that the prodigy hadn't seen because of his own deteriorating eyesight, and it had taken them longer than expected to find out who she was and where she was at.

Another series of knocks against the door that looked as if it was about to break down any moment. There was still no reply.

"Break the door down."

Well, that was for _him_ to do, wasn't it? Deidara bit back a scowl and wondered why he would be stuck with a bastard like–

–and the door opened. A little. But even if it was just slightly ajar, a teenaged face appeared from behind the door and stared at them.

_And shit, he was right_, the blonde thought, taking in the girl's odd hair and eye colour. He remembered how she was, and how could he not? Not many teenagers went around with green eyes and pink hair – those colours contrasted too much – and so this had to be the teenager by the statue, with those curiously unique features and the kind helpful nature of leading him to where Yamamoto was.

_Such a pity,_ he thought, casually leaning his hand against his hip and leaned into it. The handle of his revolver pressed cold and solid against his palm.

And then she said what could have been the most unexpected thing ever.

"Oh. You're from Youth Protection, aren't you?" she said, running her eyes over their suits, the bland, somewhat seriousness of Itachi's face. She seemed to cheer up at this, brushing a strand of damp hair out of her face, and opened the door to let them in.

Deidara was a criminal, a murderer, an artist (no matter what Sasori-danna said), and many other things, but he wasn't stupid. He had read tactics and strategies and reverse psychology – everything old and classic, from _the Art of War_ to _the Book of Five Rings_ – and this one, _this_ he had heard of before.

Out of the corner of his eye, he knew Itachi had too.

The Empty City Ruse: the thirty-second strategy from _Thirty-Six Strategies._ He had read about it in a piece of literature once (which he had blown up afterwards, because no one would have believed him to read something as old and fictional as _that_) and apparently, its use in that story had made it famous (not to mention Tokugawa had used it too.) It involved pure luck and reverse psychology as far as he knew, but it mostly relied itself on how paranoid the enemy was – there was a city to be attacked, and as there was nothing left to do, someone ordered that the gates be thrown wide open. That person himself sat the entrance and fanned himself lazily, while civilians swept the ground in front of the wide open gates – this was what the opposing army had saw, and apparently, run the hell away from.

Why? Because it had to be a trap. There _had_ to be a trick with letting enemies right in.

And in this case, no one from the west side of Konoha went around without some sort of security blanket – and those varied from pepper spray to knives to the cheap automatic sold in certain backalleys.

He threw a glance to Itachi, who actually returned the look with a quick raise of eyebrows and slight tilt of his head towards the pink-haired girl's back.

No doubt a prodigy like Itachi would know his classic literature, especially if it was about battle tactics.

Just in time, the girl looked back and asked, "Well, come on in."

He shifted his hand, brushed a knuckle against the revolver at his hip and followed her in.

"Well, look, to be honest," she said, leaning against a sliding doorway – he could see the properties of a kitchen inside –, "I actually thought you guys were coming next week."

Deidara busied himself with removing his shoes and tried to take in his surroundings to the best as he could with his head ducked down. The apartment was bland, the walls white, lacking the artistic flair that he would have expected from a girl with _pink _hair, of all things. Behind him, Itachi answered that she must have gotten the dates wrong. It was also a hint, telling him that _he_ would be the one doing the talking this time.

"Oh, no, I'm pretty sure I didn't," came the reply, and she nodded towards the calendar on the wall, right above a drawer with two lower shelves for shoes. He tucked his in, but paused for a moment to glance at the framed photograph sitting at the top of the drawer – a group photo of her friends, he supposed, although there was something familiar about the dark haired boy on the pink-haired girl's left.

Itachi was suddenly beside him, stiffly calm but his eyes were fixed on the photograph too. Certainly enough, the calendar was flipped to the right month, and in red, there were the bright words blaring '_KONOHA YP CHECK UP'_ at him, only the date was fixed a week from today.

"I mean, I was told you guys would come next week for that half-yearly check up," she chattered amiably, "You know, _that one_," she made an odd gesture with her hands when they didn't reply, "where all you youth protection service volunteers – something like that – come and made sure all the kids living independently could still manage without parents or guardians. You know. Make sure I live right, no drugs, no alcohol and my place isn't a mess."

... the suits must have made her think that.

Deidara turned around, tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged carelessly. Wondered how long it would take before she turned her back to them again, and he ran a thumb against the cool handle of the pocketknife – _such a pity._

"And if I knew you were coming earlier for whatever reason, I would have cleared up better," she said sheepishly, waving her hand over to her messy dining table, with textbooks, homework and her schoolbag sprawled over it. He noted the bright orange utility knife next to the mound of schoolbooks.

Maybe it hadn't been the right girl after all. His partner was near blind anyway. Perhaps she didn't know anything–

–and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her small white hands fiddling with her clothing, a sure sign of nervousness, but whether it was because she _knew_, or she was worried about this check up, he didn't know.

Itachi's voice jolted him out of his thoughts: "I see you were unprepared for a visit," he said calmly, glancing briefly around (the girl flushed and looked away, obviously taking the comment as an insult), "but it's understandable that the weather we've been having can be a hassle." He nodded at her damp schoolbag and schoolbooks, then looked at her, as if to confirm his opinion.

She nodded frantically, then laughed nervously, "Well, yeah. I know. The rain's been horrible and– and I just got out of the shower, you know–" she gestured to her damp hair, "–but I didn't have the time to sort my– my school stuff, I just dumped them there and they're still wet..."

And then to his utter amazement, Itachi, human ice-cube Itachi, who only talked when necessary and often ignored things that 'weren't relevant' to him, took the necessary steps towards the girl and touched her shoulder.

It was as terrifying as seeing the man smile.

Deidara watched as the girl's eyes widened and her mouth fall open, as if ready to scream, but then his partner only said quietly, "It's alright, Haruno-san–" she seemed to freeze at this, which meant they had gotten her name right, "–we'll come back next week. This visit won't count for anything if you weren't expecting it."

She swallowed hard, nodded numbly and looked like she would faint.

They left without any hassles, and to his surprise, she even offered an umbrella so that they wouldn't be drenched in the _horrible, horrible weather_, but backed away immediately once Itachi ended the visit with a curt nod.

When both of them left the building and slid back into the shadow of the alleyways, it was Deidara who started first. "Nothing, un. Except for a razor blade and that's it."

"And a can of mace."

He wasn't even going to ask how Itachi knew.

"But–"

"It's the right person. I'm certain of it. And even if she isn't..."

His partner paused, and fumbled with the slender three-orb necklace around his neck, "I would like to know what she means to my little brother."

**xXx**

"You're alive," she whispered to herself, then repeated it, only harsher and louder, "You're alive!"

_Get a grip on yourself. Be grateful, be happy, be cautious. Get up and go. _

And then Sakura stood up and began to pack her schoolbooks and textbooks, a bundle of clothing and her toiletries. She looked at her belongings, and for safety measure, removed the utility knife from the table and threw it in her 'sleepover' bag.

She refused to go to her mother or father for help, because she knew for certain that they would use any opportunity to fire ammo at each other, and it would make the custody battles worse. Maybe Ino would let her stay over for at least two days, she pondered.

And if Ino's parents were worried, there was Naruto to fall back on too.

**xXx**

A week went by. Life was normal. Sakura didn't go back the alleyways again, and passed them without taking a glance at what could have been hiding in the shadows. Half of the week was spent with Ino; when her parents expressed their concern – as she expected they would – she said that her apartment was being fumigated, using what Naruto had said to wheedle a little pity out of them.

When she thought that she shouldn't betray her friend's parents by making them worry like this, she told Ino would stay at Naruto's if he allowed her to (and he did), but told Ino's mother a different story, and left with an unknown fear rumbling in her stomach as she headed over to Naruto's apartment.

His apartment, like her own, was furnished and tailored for only one person – it was miserably small, but it was comfortable, even if Naruto was messy and left his washing to be done at the last minute and she often stayed up late to help him finish the work he had forgotten to do. She felt guilty after a week of staying at his place, even if she did help with the meals that she bought with her own money (_not ramen! I don't care if this is your place, you need to eat something healthy!_) and although her friend had no problem for her staying for longer, Sakura couldn't decide if it was safe or not to go back to her _own_ apartment.

One and half weeks since she had heard someone die, she decided that she would stay for the rest of the week at Naruto's and hopefully, do her best to reform his diet (with less ramen for certain) in that time. And then she'd go back.

She managed to make him try her grilled chilli squid and vegetable soup, and after two weeks of avoiding her own apartment, she went back. Mainly because Naruto had noticed and said that fumigating an apartment as small as hers wouldn't have taken that long, not to mention Sasuke knew too (Naruto told him) but offered (after Naruto punched him) that she could stay at with him if she wanted to. And Ino constantly nagged her, wanting to know what was wrong and threatened to sue the landlord if her pink-haired friend's apartment was in shambles, despite Sakura's weary sighs of _'no, Ino, I'm perfectly fine'_.

In the end, Sakura went back to her apartment; for the first two days, nothing happened. And then on the third, Kakashi-sensei decided to pair her and Sasuke up for their history project.

If it hadn't been Sasuke, if they hadn't gone over to her place instead of his, if, if, if, if–

**xXx**

"Mm-hmm, Sasuke-kun?"

He nodded absently, a sign that he was at least listening.

"I was wondering..." Sakura started softly, and jumped over a water puddle on the footpath, "why we didn't go to your place instead."

Sasuke paused, but said nothing – it was enough for her to drop the topic and leave it alone. Oddly enough, he was the one to reinitiate it once they turned the corner (_only one street away now; talk to him already!_) with a simple, "You wouldn't like it."

"I've never been there, so I wouldn't really know, Sasuke-kun."

He seemed to smile bitterly at this. "It's empty. And lonely. Naruto thought it was haunted, when he first came..." he trailed off softly, "but I know you won't like a place as lonely as mine." The conversation ended when he glanced away from her, more fascinated by the partially rundown nature of the west side of Konoha.

It probably had something to do how he became orphaned, but in all honestly, no one seemed to know. Either Sasuke had refused to tell anyone, or it was simply something that Could Not Be Discussed. Sakura had tried to understand, but found she couldn't – at the most, she had refused to go near either of her parents, after their divorce, the ongoing custody battle, and their refusal to even talk to each other civilly. She had been sick of being used to either of their advantages, of being bribed by her father and coaxed to lie by her mother, and it ended up with her in her own apartment, and there she would stay until their stupid custody battles were over.

"I just thought..." she said, not liking how unsure she sounded, "that you wouldn't like, well, you know," her hands fluttered nervously, indicating the rundown buildings, the grafitti-streaked walls and the gray dull atmosphere of it all, "like _this_ of all things."

And then she added quietly: "I certainly don't like this place."

It was an unspoken rule between her, Sasuke and Naruto that the discussions of parents were completely out of the question. Hers were nearly non-existant to her, unless they ended their arguments; Naruto's were gone and no one said where or when; and Sasuke was orphaned and left with an empty house.

To her surprise, Sasuke moved his hand, and then somehow, it was on her shoulder, and he was giving the smallest of all small smiles – a slight upward movement of the left corner of his mouth, and nothing more – but it was _Sasuke-kun_ and he rarely ever did this, not ever, not for her. And he said simply, "I don't mind how your place is, Sakura."

Sakura wasn't sure what to say, but was saved by the sight of a very familiar-looking building right up ahead, and brushed him off with a nervous laugh, "Hey, we're here already! Come on, the faster we get this done, the better!"

**xXx**

Sakura was rummaging around for a decent-quality package of green tea – Sasuke said he preferred oolong, but she had run out a long time ago – when she heard the knock on the door. She froze, hand gripping the parcel tightly, remembered two weeks ago, and the promise to come back a week later–

There was a slight thud of Sasuke dropping his textbook on the table, the screech of the chair against the floor, and then she jumped up, pushing aside the sliding door as she heard her friend call out, "I'll get it, Sakura," and with just one foot past the threshold–

–he opened the door.

For a moment, she could have sworn time stopped for him: Sasuke's face frozen in shock, hand still on the doorknob, and then his face twisting in rage. Out of the kitchen now, and she was rushing towards him–

–but he had been thrown aside, flung away like a rag doll, by arms clad in black belonging to the man she had seen two weeks before, _oh god, that man, __**that**__ man_.

She doubled back and rushed to the fallen Sasuke, who was having difficulty getting up (_hurt his back for certain, on a floor as hard as that_) and tried to help him up, but was suddenly compelled to look up, and yes, there, just as she suspected, both of them, again in her apartment, and this time she couldn't lie–

–_you're going to die–_

But Sasuke pulled her out of her thoughts, as he gripped her hand for support, if only to raise himself from the ground, snarling, "_You._" Sakura couldn't tear her eyes away from the two, nor could she stop the whimper from being wrung out of her throat, because _she was going to die. _He pulled his hand out of hers, and lunged forward, reaching for the dark-haired man, but having the other (_the blond one, the murderer_) push him aside, as if he wasn't even worth the effort.

"This isn't about you, un," he said, and turned his eyes on Sakura.

_No–_

"Actually..." the other one started, "my brother. Leave him to me, Deidara."

Sasuke, after being thrown into the wall, still noticed how the one named 'Deidara' had his eyes fixed on Sakura; and the girl herself was still sitting there, most likely numb with fear, though now clenching a utility knife that she kept in her pockets in her shaking hands.

_My brother. Leave him to me._

(Sakura would get in the way; his brother wasn't paying attention to her; his partner wasn't paying attention to him.)

So he dove for the blond, grabbing for his legs and knocking him right over, and shouted as loudly as he could, "_Sakura, run!_" Dizzily, he saw the bastard move–

–Sakura leapt up and dove out of the doorway, the hounds of hell at her household sandalled-feet–

–_thank you_, Sasuke thought, and then his brother gripped the back of his shirt and pulled him up–

"Deidara. Get her."

He was suddenly the prey, the mouse for the eagle, and Itachi's crow-black eyes stared at him.

"It's been a while, little brother."

**xXx**

Down the stairs, jumping down two at a time. Not very safe, not in near-frictionless sandals like these, not when the stairs were still wet, but Sakura could not bring herself to care.

At the third level, she could hear someone swear from above her, and she didn't stop, not even if she was panting and wheezing and breathless, because above all, _she wanted to live._

_Where was Sasuke?_ she thought, as she dove out of the building and into the alleyways, her feet splashing into puddles and her socks becoming wet, but _who cared right now?_

_You left him behind,_ a small little voice breathed, _you left him behind._

When she thought she couldn't run anymore, Sakura flung herself against a wall and clapped her hand against her mouth, trying to quieten her frantic breathing. Just in time, she could hear the blonde (_Deidara, that's what he was called_) pause, swear and then dive down another alley.

_Inhale. Exhale._

She couldn't stay in this alley for long – what if he turned around to this alley and saw her? The sound of footsteps splashing the water died away, and after a moment, she turned back the way she came–

–someone collided with her, (_not accidental_, she realized) pushing her against the wall, a hot breath against her ear sneering, "Found you," and with nothing else to do, Sakura screamed. Her cry only lasted for less than a second, because his hand clamped down against her mouth, pressing her hard against the wall and pinning her there–

–_nononononono_–

"A real pity, un," she heard him say, and she felt one hand moving away from her mouth, "but we can't have you talking to anyone about what you've seen," and he began to reach for what would be an efficient murder weapon–

"Wait!" she gasped, squirming and trying to avoid his other hand, which was now trying to cover her mouth, "I haven't– I haven't said anything– no please, don't–"

He wouldn't believe her for certain; she could almost imagine the bullet that would be leaving her dead in an alley like this (_an ungraceful way to die, but that can't be helped_).

"If I said anything, wouldn't there be an investigation? More police activity? I–" his hand sealed itself over her mouth, and out of desperate shame, Sakura felt the hot tears slip down her face, _goodbye world, love you Ino, Naruto, Sasuke, oh, Sasuke, I'm so sorry–_

There was no bullet. No knife. Nothing. Just her and an alley and someone shoving her against the wall, with his hand wet from tears.

The silence was almost unbearable. Sakura forced open her eyes to stare back at someone staring curiously at her. He didn't move his hand.

"Really?" he answered, eyes narrowed and staring at hers. His hand fell away, but drifted down her throat and lingered there. _Don't scream,_ was the message, _or I'll snap your neck apart._

"Yes." She closed her eyes, not wanting to see her murderer's face as the last thing she saw before she died. "I–I don't want any– any trouble. Please."

She swallowed hard, felt another hot tear trail down her face, but didn't expect the thumb that brushed it away.

Quietly now: "Would you die for him? That boy. Back in your apartment."

_Sasuke-kun?_ What sort of question was that? Did he expect a 'yes', and would he fulfill it? Or did he want a 'no', just to see how far her loyalties could be stretched? Somehow, it didn't matter anymore. With her eyes still shut, Sakura choked out, "_Yes._"

When she felt him lean forward, hair brushing against her cheek, she expected a mocking 'goodbye' before he killed her. When his hand left her throat, she expected him to play with her, let her try and run from him before shooting her in the back. What she didn't expect was his fingers drifting across her tear-stained face and the question breathed, his breath warm against her neck, into her ear: "Would you live without telling anyone about what happened today? Or rather, _could_ you live without telling anyone that you ever met me?"

She wanted to live; it was a natural instinct, but no creature on this good green earth wanted to die, because no matter how painful things were, life was above all, the most important thing someone could ever have and might not ever receive again.

"Yes."

His other hand reached between their bodies, where her hands were crushed against his chest, and gripped her smaller one almost painfully, twisting her fingers to entwine with his. It was the odd symbol of a pact, an almost forced handshake.

_A handshake._ _And you said yes._

She opened her eyes, her sight still blurred by her tears, and still unable to believe that, yes, _she was alive._ Sakura's mouth fell open, and she could almost _feel_ the satisfied sneer twisting on the blonde's – _Deidara, get used to his name now_ – lips, as they moved over her ear.

"Let's make a deal, Sakura-chan."

**xXx**

* * *

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_The Art of War_ – probably one of the most famous military strategy books ever. (And no, I haven't read it yet.) And it's from China. See my obvious bias right here!

The piece of literature that Deidara blows up after reading is_ The Romance of Three Kingdoms._ It's a classic. And it's dead long. Anyone who's over eight and raised by a Chinese family has to know at least _one_ story from it. In this case, The Empty City Ruse was used here.

The Empty City Ruse: exactly what was said in the story. I've only heard of one occasion where it was used – and it was fictional too – but we can always rely on Wikipedia when there's other things. Kong Ming used it during _The_ _Romance of Three Kingdoms_ and managed to fool any army by not attacking the city. Because he opened the city doors right open, had two women sweep the ground while in clear range of attack, and Kong Ming himself sat right there at the entrance and fanned himself. With a fan made of swan feathers. The attacking army decide to get the hell out of there because there was something 'suspicious' with the way they _looked_ harmless, but probably had an Evil Plan to kill them all.

... what can I say? Reverse psychology and pure luck.

Thanks to Wikipedia: _The Thirty-Six Strategies_ is a Chinese collection of 36 proverbs used to illustrate military strategy and tactics. _The Book of Five Rings_ is also a book on martial arts and military strategy, only it's Japanese. I know; enough with Chinese-written texts already!

... and don't worry. There will be Deidara x Sakura x Itachi. I need to pass compulsory education first.

Review?


	3. Be Not Afraid

It took a while.

On the other hand, if anyone wants to complain, I'm ditching everything else in favour of writing this. Feel free to complain anyway.

... constructive criticism would be nice too.

(There is also more-than-slightly-vague one-sided Sakura x Sasuke in this. It won't last too long. Promise.)

**Summary **–  
_  
In the urban decay of Konohagakure, an unwanted meeting finds Haruno Sakura tangled into the dangerous company of two certain criminals of the Akatsuki. While the sinister web of the underground organization may throw her reality into an odd imbalance, it is those who pursue them that threaten Sakura's life. And somewhere between avoiding the inevitable and kissing chaos, Sakura finds it's becoming harder to disengage herself from the blond enigma of an artist and his partner._

**DISCLAIMER: If it were up to me, certain characters would finally have **_**backstory.**_

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**CHAPTER TWO**

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**BE NOT AFRAID**

* * *

**xXx**

The last time Sakura had ever felt trapped – excluding the incident in the alley – was the time she and almost everyone she knew spent the night (six in the evening to one in the morning) at Ino's apartment, (with no parental guidance, but at least a respectable alcohol limit); and she had grandly lost in a game of cards. The punishment of sorts: _Truth or Dare_, and even as careful as she was, the liquor in her veins had urged her to choose the latter.

_Kiss Sasuke-kun,_ Ino had suggested happily, her face as pink as Sakura's hair, with one arm slung around Shikamaru and cheek pressed against his, _c'mon forehead, you know you want to!_

_You didn't even win!_ she sniped back, trying not to look at the boy in question sitting across from her, _Hinata did, and unless Hinata-chan says that she wants me to– oh, no, please–_

It would have been useless either way, as Hinata seemed unlikely to go against whatever Ino said, not with both Kiba and Naruto egging her on.

_Oh, oh __**fine, **_she muttered, knowing that Sasuke wouldn't like it (even if the butterflies in her belly, like the alcohol, said she did); and unsurprisingly, he didn't. He did, though, bother to grudgingly lean (just a little) closer to her, before _she _leaned in – like a predator going in for the kill, according to Ino when asked afterwards – and pressed a dry-lipped kiss to his cheek.

Later, when she asked why, he said nonchalantly, _avoiding unnecessary trouble,_ and then dropped the matter entirely. Sakura knew he was thinking of the incident all the way back in their first year when someone accidentally pushed Naruto onto him, and it had resulted in unexpected lip-locking. But she laughed instead, balancing herself against the wall for support, telling him it was _my own stupid fault; I shouldn't have put myself into it, right?_

In terms of Sasuke being Sasuke, he was surprisingly nice in what he said next: _true. But there wasn't any other way for you to get out of it, was there?_ And then he caught her arm and hauled her up before she could collapse on him, and asked if she needed a taxi home, like a good gentleman he was. (She learnt later that it was because Naruto had seen and was making a beeline towards her, all _Sakura-chan, Sakura-chan, are you alright?_ and _we'll take you home __**right now**__, 'kay?_)

Sakura stopped thinking about _then_ and more about _now_ – because _now_, she was sitting on her own couch in her own apartment, with a murderer by her side and another leaning by the wall (_that _brother, if what he claimed was true), and Sasuke-kun, poor Sasuke-kun, crumpled on the floor, eyes closed and his hair like snapped raven feathers, angular and askew, and _look at what you did._

_You put yourself into this,_ the traitorous little voice whispered, _and you can't get yourself out of it, can you?_

Funny how she still felt trapped, even in her own place, though it was perhaps more understandable now that two Akatsuki members had taken residence inside, and one was keeping an wary arm over her shoulders, like she was ready to jump and fly off.

_Not such a bad idea,_ came the giddy thought, as Sakura flicked her eyes over the man beside her, mockingly holding her like one would embrace their lover. Only there was a closed switchblade in his hand, tap-tap-tapping in a steady rhythm against her right shoulder. She thought about being trapped, _caged. _She imagined his imprisoning arm keeping itself there, a smirk replacing the scowl he currently had, and the insides of her apartment changing to that of a seedy nightclub's – an image brought on by the movies she had watched. Enter heroine, enter anti-hero, reveal his shady background, throw in the _yakuza_, and _wow_, there's a plot.

But her life wasn't supposed to be a movie – just a bad drama or soap-opera at the most: a girl with typical teenager problems, finds love in one of her _we're-just-friends_ friends, gets on with life. And this wasn't supposed to be happening, none of this, not the Akatsuki, not her friend getting hurt in the crossfire, nothing.

The left side of Sasuke-kun's face pressed to the floor reminded Sakura that this was very, _very_ real.

Part of her screamed and wept alternately at the state Sasuke was in; another part of her demanded vengeance, going to the authorities, dying her hair black, running off to Sunagakure, and taking Sasuke-kun with her. Neither scenario seemed realistic enough to act out, and after all, hadn't she just (stupidly) pledged herself to keeping a secret, in exchange for her life? Hadn't she told this murderer a desperate _'yes'_ in the face of her death and shared a forced but not entirely one-sided handshake with him in that alley?

Rather than attempt to claw this 'Deidara's' eyes out, she clenched her fingers into the old material of the couch instead, imagined that it was his face, his skin, his _heart _in her hands, all so very liable to be torn apart. So distracted was she by her imagination that she didn't notice Deidara's arm move, and instead of her shoulders, loop around her neck – almost threatening strangulation – and drag her face to his and his partner's direction.

She swayed slightly, heart thudding madly (_oh God_) in her chest, but swallowed and leaned back as much as she could to resist the arm circling her neck – anything to keep her balance and put the slightest bit of distance between her and them. If she hadn't felt the odd bulkiness (_Kevlar _– _I've never heard of the long sleeved type_) of his arm, if his grip wasn't so close to choking her, if it had been tanned, dry skin instead of fabric, she could have imagined it as Naruto slinging his arm across her neck and affectionately pulling her close ("C'mon, group photo, Sakura-chan!").

To her surprise, he didn't tighten his grip, but instead fixed his eyes on her, almost sneering at her futile resistance – "Right, Sakura-chan?" If not for the maniac glint in his narrowed eyes, the tone could have passed as amiable. "You heard what I said, didn't you?"

She nodded frantically (_he can't call you that–_), "Yeah. Sure." His hold around her neck fell away; she backed off immediately and threw herself as far right – and away from him – on the couch as she could.

There was no need to involve herself in whatever they needed to talk about, so she turned away, finding it unbearable to face two murderers she would keep a secret for, and decided to be frantic about Sasuke instead. Almost on cue, he shuddered, mouth moving to form soundless words; at the very most, it could have been nothing, but she, not she, not her, was not the girl who would stand back and watch her friend die when it was her fault. What could that bastard who proclaimed himself as Sasuke-kun's brother have done to him while she was gone?

Sakura snapped her head back, grasped at his sleeve suddenly, "Please. What– what did you to him?"

Unsurprisingly, he pulled away, as if ready to distance himself from any disastrous touch she could inflict on him. "Nothing," he scowled, and then turned to his partner, "Didn't do anything to him, did you Itachi?"

She chanced to glance back at the dark-haired boy on the ground, "He's not _moving_–"

"Then go check up on him, un."

The very words she had been waiting for.

Sakura almost leapt away from him and fell into a crouch next to Sasuke's prone body. Remembering the first aid courses she had attended with the hope of studying medicine, she rolled him over, fumbled for his pulse and almost breathed a sigh of relief when she felt it was there – _he's alive, he's fine, he's alright._

_That_, at least, was good news. She kneeled down, sat back on her legs and managed to lift his head onto her lap, trying to ignore the fluttery butterflies that had started to breed there – _ha,_ _you should look at yourself!_ – at the motion. _Pulse there, no visible injuries, _bruises yet to form, most likely, she noted. As she scraped back his overly long fringe and let her fingers roam over his scalp, she searched for any raised bumps or wounds that could mean head injury.

Almost by impulse, Sakura left her mind and hand drift away, barely noticing how her bent knuckles were now slowly following a course down the side of his face – she could feel the swell of his cheekbones, high, aristocratic almost – trailed down to his neck, where his pulse–

–was oddly fast. As if he was pumped with drugs, she realized suddenly, and almost to confirm that, Sasuke moaned and shuddered violently in her hands. How could she not have noticed? The guilty shame of not _realizing_ her fault mixed with worry and the hot burning fear that someone – _Itachi_, her mind supplied – had done something to him. Drugged him. Poisoned him. Hurt him. Anything that could have been done while she wasn't _there_ for him.

Her hand clenched in his shirt – _what did they do _– and when she spun around to face the blond, the question already poised on her lips, she heard the soft click (she knew that sound, that damningly familiar sound) that seemed to echo loudly around her.

She had forgotten about the _other_ one.

Sakura inhaled, _think think think_, and in that millisecond, found that she couldn't use that dependable, rational part hidden behind her overly large forehead to help her. With nothing else to do, she peeled her gaze from Deidara's. She disliked the way his eyes fixed on hers, sharp and narrowed, and oddly aware of something she wasn't quite sure that _she _saw. Instead, she landed her gaze on (_look to your left, look upon your executioner_) Uchiha Itachi's; stared right at him, at the eyes that were somewhat akin to but too cold to be his brother's, at the barrel of the gun aimed between her eyes, too close to ever miss. Glittering polished black. Just like him.

_Obsidian and crows, blood and rubies,_ she thought, and were these were really the thoughts a girl about to die would usually think?, _red and black suit him. He's cursed–_

(her and Sasuke-kun, lying in a pool of blood, together, together, together, her pink hair turned red, and his still dark, dark as his brother's–)

_How romantic,_ a part of her mumbled. _You've watched too many crime dramas._

She closed her eyes.

And irony of all ironies, the brother of her unconscious friend paraphrased what Deidara had asked her in that alley: "Sakura-san, what would you do to live?"

Her eyes flew open. "_What?_" she gasped, instinctively tightening her grip in Sasuke's shirt and pulling him closer to her.

"Move."

–_out of the way, so I can kill my brother without any obstructions, what would you do to live Sakura-san–_

"Itachi-san doesn't like to waste unnecessary bullets, un," commented Deidara from behind her, as if his opinion (and knowledge about his partner) mattered to her, because _no, no, are you insane, I'm not going to move you bastard, I'm not going to–_

She wasn't aware she had said it aloud until he (_Itachi_) repeated it again, voice bland and eyes fixed on his brother lying in her lap. He could do it like that...? Just like that – to end his _brother's_ life with a pull of the trigger, and maybe even hers too, if she couldn't shut up about it afterwards. Numbly, she shook her head, eyes screwed shut, mouthing, "No, no, no–" under her breath.

_Dying can't be that bad,_ came the bitter voice, _not with Sasuke-kun, because you've damned yourself first and then you damned him, so really, don't you deserve this, you wretched little–_

She heard the shuffle of footsteps, Itachi approaching even closer, gun still raised, but when she opened her eyes cautiously, the barrel was angled and pointing at Sasuke's chest (_his heart_) instead. She felt her own jump, and before she could process the thought (_he's going to kill him right now_–), she had cried out – _no!_ – had thrown herself forward to cover his torso with her own; her angry sob was muffled in Sasuke's shirt as she bent over him, protected his unconscious body with her own: _no, you'll have to peel me off, my skin, my bones, I won't leave him–_

"Move away from him, Sakura-san."

_And you'll live but he'll die; he'll die and you'll live. Is that so unfortunate?_

Still folded over the boy, she raised her head and stared straight ahead, at anything except him, and murmured just loud enough for both her unwanted guests to hear, "If you really have to, use one. And make it quick." Couldn't they see? Didn't they realize that she'd die with him, just as he had been so willing to let her run and leave himself to face them in her stead? _Like before,_ she remembered, fingers clenching harder, _like before. Trying to help me get out of my own damn problem._

Behind her, Deidara scoffed.

She would not regret this, she would not regret this, she would not regret–

She wouldn't cry either; blinked her painfully dry eyes; thought about her tears in the alley; prayed she needn't relive that again.

But maybe Itachi had anticipated that too, because when she felt his foot nudge against her bent legs, then the soft thud of his own knees bending down to touch the floor, the ominous feeling of being killed faded away; and when she snapped her head around, the gun he held was already disappearing into the confines of his jacket. "You–" she began weakly, then turned away immediately, stomach churning and hoping that the tiniest spark of _hope_, of not dying, that he had built when he put the firearm away would not burn out immediately.

Sakura was silenced by fear when he outstretched a hand, pressed a palm firm against the side of her face, and turned her face towards his (hands like Sasuke-kun's, slender and worn from work, but fingertips, hands, everything so very _cold_), ensuring that her gaze was fixed on him and him only. Her mouth fell open to match the shock reflected in her eyes, after expecting to be dead, to be anything but alive and seeing Uchiha Itachi kneeling before her.

Nevertheless it was what he said next that almost killed her: "We expect the same loyalty that you show to my brother."

She spared a glance towards Deidara, who gave no nod or sign of affirmation but let his eyes say everything.

"You– you want _me_ to–" she stammered, turned back round to face him, but he had already withdrawn his hand (she couldn't be more grateful). Itachi stood up to leave her there, then, sitting pathetic and looking so very lost, with Sasuke's head in her lap and her life threatened only moments ago in her own apartment, and, and–

She wasn't sure when Itachi had given the motion to his partner that they should leave, or when Deidara would have replied to that somehow – _messages with eyes, perhaps? They seemed good at that._ She didn't notice someone's hand falling lightly onto the top of her head just before they passed to leave, or if it ever actually happened at all (warm hands, she gathered, warm gentle kind hands; but then, it would have been neither of theirs). For within her ignorance, she finally let the scales tip, and bent over the prone form of an utterly helpless Sasuke (_you just saved him, you just saved him–_), she finally, _finally_, let all the tears out, spilling out from her apple-sorrow-green eyes–

–_are the windows to the soul_–

–and what it really reflected, in all painful cold crude honesty, was that she was weak: weak to allow this to happen to her, weak to _let_ this happen to her, weak to be caught up in all of this and _you idiot,_ left without any other options at all.

The echo of her choked sobs and cries in an utterly empty apartment served to remind her how utterly alone she was in this.

**xXx**

Outside, without even needing to press his ear against the thin wooden door, Itachi made a noise of approval? disapproval? scorn? – Deidara didn't know, he didn't think he wanted to.

"Leave it," was all that Itachi said before starting his way down.

The blond wanted to protest, as if he had been _expected_ to care for the girl's welfare.

"At least," he continued, "she learns quickly."

**xXx**

When she finally got her wits together, Sakura found the note on her messy dining room table. It was painstakingly neat, appearing to be more printed from a computer than to be written by hand, and although it was not addressed, it bore the simple message that was meant for her eyes only: _he won't remember._ Drugs, she supposed, then took her time to carefully lift Sasuke off the floor and onto her couch.

Murphy's Law stated that _things will go wrong in any given situation, if you give them a chance._ Eyes narrowed and already wondering how on Earth she would explain this to him, she paced around for a moment, then shredded the note and shoved the pieces down the kitchen sink. She had already let this situation fester beyond a limit that she could have controlled, and with Sasuke lying limp on her couch, it was not getting any better – chances were that it was becoming worse already.

No. It was a matter of power games, of intimidation – holding a gun to her head and telling her to move and leave Sasuke undefended was the most recent proof of that. It was meant to scare her, meant to break her. She remembered her mother, her father, the shouting; she remembered the arguments that were refined as court cases and the words that became fancier, like _incapability, irresponsibility_, but of all things, remembered reminding herself that she was her own person, who was still Sakura even without the Haruno, and had her own _choice_.

... and as if they could ever buy her loyalty, something within her snorted, much more confident inside the personal silence (save for the soft breaths Sasuke took) of her apartment.

She left him on the couch, picked out the package of green tea (_Sasuke-kun still preferred oolong_), then reboiled the water which had turned cold with the passing time. She stared at her watch and then her calendar while she listened to the rumbling bubbling of the kettle (_oh, it's been how many hours already?_), turned away to fill her only earthenware teapot with dried leaves when she heard the bubbling stop after a click, (_I have how many days left–_) then filled up the vessel with hot water. It was simple, straightforward – she'd done it plenty of times.

And her life wasn't going to fuck up because of this.

_Sure as hell ain't,_ something else chirped, sounding more like her when she was twelve, more bright, more energetic, more certain of herself, _miserable assholes weren't the first to try, and they won't be the first to fail!_

She left two teacups on the kitchen bench, and then started to move all her schoolwork and mess on her kitchen table to her room. She'd need that table to be there for convenience now. Then she'd pull out her lucky hair tie, pull her choppy pink hair back so that it resembled Shikamaru and his thick, brilliant pineapple-head ponytail, and _think._

Sasuke woke up to Sakura's warm hands on his neck, checking for his pulse. The following moments rushed on as something blinding assaulted his eyes (_goddamned lights_) and his hostess graciously greeted by pressing a cup full of green tea into his hands. And her voice, all _Sasuke-kun, I'd thought you'd never wake up, I didn't think that spill on the floor was that dangerous, but really, you shouldn't have rushed, because you slipped, and you fell, and I was so worried. And you have a bump on your head now... no, don't worry, I put some cream on it, now drink your tea and just stay there for the moment, please?_

He wanted to tell her that he had the most peculiar dream, and it wasn't about him slipping down, but instead, a pleasant memory of his mother holding him when he was seven and telling him to be more careful, and how he was lucky he didn't hurt his head, but _goodness _– _scraped knees? He should have been more careful, really_. He watched her back when she left, humming quietly to herself, but wondered why her hands, even if they were larger than his mother's was, and coarser too, had been so comfortably _warm_ and familiar.

The dream would have been better though, if his brother hadn't suddenly appeared and made the horror of his past unfold before his eyes again.

**xXx**

It was a cold night. She closed her windows, but left her door unlocked, for Sasuke was asleep one room away on her couch, and even if she had barred the front door and rigged up a million traps at the threshold, Sakura still had cold feet. Figuratively and literally.

Her mind rewound, replayed the still fresh memory of that bright sunshine-happy day, being crouched at the foot of a statue as a blond leather-clad man ruffled her hair before he disappeared, swallowed into the crowd – she _remembered_, and it was a horrible memory. Her dreams however, warped that image, left her tormented all night: a gun pressed to her forehead or the sharp edge of a switchblade kissing her neck and drawing blood or Sasuke-kun lying in a bloody mess beside her at the statue, but always with weasels watching, eyes like blood and smiling in a way only tricksters could.

Sasuke woke her up in the early morning; he was leaning over her, dark hair draping down at the sides of his face like a curtain, when he shook her shoulder and pulled her out of the depths of sleep. She was partially amazed that she hadn't screamed in his face because of it, and brushed it off as casually as she could, despite the feeling of her throat being clogged with fear – "You should keep your hair as it is, Sasuke-kun," she added, tugging at the strands lightly (as meticulous as always) and then pushed him out of her room before he could ask her why.

No one said a word, though, when they saw the pair arrived at school _together,_ although some of the other girls said they saw Sasuke-kun and that pink-haired girl come in from the west gate, but didn't Sasuke-kun live at the _better_, eastern part of Konoha and the _east_ gate should have been more convenient for him?

"It'll die down," he scoffed when Sakura arrived to sit with him and Naruto at lunch and proceeded to dig into his bento box, "Don't worry about it, Sakura– ah, and thank you for the lunch," He meant the one she had given him that morning. She wondered if the look on her face was one of mortification or suppressed pride, because Naruto started at that comment, and she could feel her cheeks grow warm.

"I'll make you one too," she said, grinning, and punched Naruto's arm. "Depends on what you do to _deserve_ it though."

And then the words suddenly became so very _wrong_ to her, starting up a bubbling of guilt in her belly, because really, what had Sasuke-kun done to deserve being knocked on her floor and being drugged and meeting up with two Akatsuki members and almost being _killed_ in her graceless, nondescript apartment? She felt sick when Naruto laughed and went on and on about what he'd do _just_ to have a bento box made by Sakura-chan, and was more than surprised when she shoved her unopened lunch at him.

"Here. I don't feel like eating right now," she mumbled, and jumped up, ignoring the cries of _Sakura-chan, wait, wait!_ How ever she made it to the bathroom, she wasn't sure, but once she was, the first unoccupied cubicle suddenly was filled with the sound of her retching her scarce breakfast out.

_This is what you got yourself into._

_And Sasuke-kun's not going to save you this time._

**xXx**

The only problem with the flat was that it had barely any _space_, and above of all that, there was hardly any places where he could decently hide something smaller than his palm.

Explosives had to be hidden well, damn it.

Deidara paused in repacking the occupant's cupboard – did the plates go _behind_ or to the _left_ of the saucepans? – backed away a step, tilted his head to the right and checked to see if one of his explosives were hidden at this angle. It would do, he supposed, considering there was barely anything in the cupboard to hide something behind.

And with so little space, whatever detonation would occur in this wretched place would barely look _grand_, he moaned inwardly. But then again, because of the small space and cramped quarters, the place might combust quickly, all red and burning with fire, over in a second–

Much better than the tasteless decor this girl had.

"Tobi!" Deidara shouted from the kitchen, "Where the hell did you plant the birds?" And maybe it wasn't the best idea to put the 'spider' shaped bombs among her dishes, but it was better if she was so terrified that she wouldn't dare touch them.

"Here, _sempai!_" came the reply, which actually meant the top of the shoe drawer and beside her photographs and keep-sakes. The clay bird sculptures might have passed, he thought, for what school students did art class, only it was _much_ too good for that. He whacked Tobi over the head when he asked if he had done well – "No, you idiot! Putting my art in plain sight and comparing it to a kid's?!" – and grabbed a few to hide somewhere in her room. One on her dresser, meant to stare at her accusingly, another on the windowsill, beak peaking out from behind the black curtains (she even covered and locked her windows, paranoid kid), and a few more inside her wardrobe (that was more a pathetically small closet). But the last...

_Better safe than sorry,_ Itachi had said, opting to sit this one out, though he doubted that the man wasn't bothered to plant explosives around the apartment, mainly because she wouldn't last that long. He'd give it twenty-four hours at the most, and she'd be doubting her honestly, her poor conscience, and then she'd rat them out.

Or try to. It was what the explosives were for, after all.

But at least, Deidara thought, tucking the last bird at the corner of the room against the door, before plucking the black gloves off his hands, the blast would be worth it.

"Tobi, leave it," he shouted as he exited, not bothering to shut the door properly – it would do as a marker of _all that isn't right_ when she came home, if she didn't notice anything at first, and they didn't expect her to – "Get out of there, un. We're leaving."

"But I'm–" came the protest.

"Then hurry up and let's _go_." There was ample time before the girl would come back, but it was the fear of being seen that ate at him.

"Yes, _sempai!_ A moment, please, Tobi needs to do this properly!"

He rechecked his watch, decided to allow the other three minutes, and settled against the wall to wait. They should have left ten minutes ago, and if they were late, Kisame would bite their heads off 'for tardiness, and _making us worry_'. As if they worried.

And to pass the time he pulled his gloves out again and left one last bird on the top of her shoe drawer, exactly where he had told Tobi not to put it.

If, and a very unlikely chance at that, she didn't break within the twenty-four hours that he had expected her to – might not even break after all, because he had seen that crazed loyalty only yesterday – the little clay creature would be there to remind her of how guilty she was of keeping her silence. He couldn't blame her much, nor could he care, mainly because he had never needed to feel so devoted to someone; his art required all his attention and focus, and it was too hard to shift that sort of care onto people who argued and complained and were so irritating, but...

For a moment, he wondered about Itachi's younger brother, who had been so close to death but had been shielded by a girl willing to die with him, and if that boy – probably sharing the same arrogance that seemed hereditary for all Uchihas – even _knew_ about that mad devotion someone had for him. It was nothing to do with jealousy, but for a moment, Deidara wondered about what he would have done just for a moment of that fierce loyalty.

(_Her eyes had been burning, half-mad and fierce and so intensely concentrated that the green suddenly looked out of place in such a calamity – cool and pale and oddly lucid amid the madness–_)

Yeah.

Just a moment, if only to see that fleeting look on her face.

A pity that she wouldn't be around to give it to him.

**xXx**

It was so good to be out of school.

All she wanted to do was collapse on her bed and curl up under her sheets and sleep the day away so that she didn't _need_ to think about her predicament. Walking home sans shortcuts when it was _raining_ was bad enough, and being soaked to the bone wore her out, and _god knows, _she was world-weary as it was, thought Sakura as she jammed the key in the door – _say, wait–_

_What if–_

"Hey, I'm home," she called out cautiously, almost expecting something to leap out of her kitchen and wave a knife at her. There was no reply, no whirl or click of some foreign device or rigged trap sending a shower of needles into her.

For a moment, she wanted someone to reply – even if it was a half-hearted wild thought that maybe her parents (or one of them) had visited and let themselves in. She threw a glance over to the opened shoe drawer, just as she left it, and _nope, nothing new there, _not unless they wanted to plant a bomb inside. There was something else there though, something odd and nagging her as she pulled off one of her shoes, because something seemed somewhat... _out of place_ atop the drawer, something that was–

–an odd-shaped clay bird that she only noticed once she tucked her school shoes away, and it was sitting beside the photograph of her friends, and it hadn't been in there _this morning,_ lording over the surface like it had every right to be there.

She dropped her bag and flung open the sliding doors of the drawer, threw out a shoe, then another, all hers, nothing wrong (_yet_), then one of Ino's that had been left behind and forgotten, more than five pairs of household sandals (never knew when visitors might come) and then–

–there was another small clay bird. Placed under the space of her only pair of _geta_, it looked lost, almost misplaced, like her cousin had stashed it away when she was a child to mock her, and she had thought it lost until now. She inhaled, _you can do this, there's nothing wrong with it,_ then pulled one sandal out and dropped it on the ground without a care, because she was utterly focused on the clay bird-thing in her heavily emptied shoe drawer. It didn't look harmful, only as long as her smallest finger, but basing her judgement on appearance only was the most stupid thing she could have done.

_Next to involving yourself in this,_ something unhelpfully supplied as she jumped up to find a pair of plastic gloves.

Maybe she shouldn't touch it, she reasoned, snapping the gloves on, because besides getting her fingerprints on... on _whatever_ _it was_, making contact with it might be lethal. Horribly lethal. Poisonous to touch – something the clay it was made from most likely, and she could already guess who had put it there.

_But why?_

Sakura bit her lip, worried, wondering whether to get rid of it or not. If they had indeed planted it there (and they must have) what was its purpose? Was it a security camera (because her shoes were just that fascinating) or something that had even more questionable purposes? And why the hell had was one of these clay things in plain sight, sitting on her shoe drawer like a child's class-made sculpture, or–

_Hell no. I don't mould things __**that**__ badly. _

And she was sitting next to a heap of shoes, completely and utterly wet, hair plastered to her face, and yet she could still question someone's taste in art. The bird still didn't look any prettier though – just a messily molded thing with little detail (but with a rather cute beak). And with that thought in mind, she sighed and began to repack her footwear in the drawer, careful to fit the bird back under the space of one of her _geta._

She'd have to completely redo her pantry too, came the thought, and every cupboard in the flat. Finding little clay creatures in them at unexpected times was not on her agenda.

**xXx**

Itachi let himself in at fourteen past twelve in the morning. A copy of the key hadn't been too hard to obtain, and he unlocked the door soundlessly, before he slipped quietly inside. His eyes were already well accustomed to the dark, and coupled with the night vision technology embedded in his glasses, he easily found the clay bird that Deidara had informed him of, sitting on the shoe drawer as expected. It rested beside the photograph that he hadn't bothered studying earlier. Maybe he should have, he thought, as he pulled out a pair of plastic house slippers (raised properly, the perfect Uchiha son he was) and slipped them over his boots, although he had no intention to stay longer than was required.

He outstretched his hand until his glove touched the glass surface, unable to see the details but already able to guess what the picture was: a detailed source of who her friends and peers were, all of them clad in the compulsory Konoha Academy uniform, and most importantly, all of them a decent target if she weakened.

And it gave him Sasuke; Sasuke, who probably still had his arms crossed even in photographs and would be either scowling at the camera or someone he found annoying, who was essentially, as their last encounter proved, still the same. After all these years, he had found his brother – not because he was looking for him, but perhaps it had been luck. Or fate, if he believed in it. Or maybe his brother had been foolish enough to be acquainted with equally foolish people.

And Sasuke was best used against this Haruno Sakura, if she was so steadfast and loyal to him. Did his brother understand this sort of loyalty that could not be bought, but could only be gained?

And that, he hoped, would be her downfall, if such an occasion called for it.

Deidara had bet that it would – the girl wouldn't last twenty-four hours; she'd break her odd little vow of silence before time was up.

But she hadn't, and he was going to be two thousand yen richer when he got back. If Deidara was willing to pay up, of course, because the reason for his visit was to find _why_ she had kept her silence when they expected otherwise.

His partner was going to be very upset that night – being cleared of two thousand yen and missing out on this grand explosion he had been hoping for.

He glanced around, drew his fingers away before they could linger too long on his brother and this girl, and heard Haruno Sakura breathing only a few metres to his right. Sleeping on the couch then, although he had always thought she would try and barricade herself within the safety of her room. He approached silently, making sure the slippers made no sound against the floor, and loomed over the girl just as she shifted in her sleep. Her lips moved, shaping some inaudible word, and because he could not be bothered with spending the whole night in an apartment like this, outstretched his hand and shook her shoulder.

"Mmmnn..." Light sleeper. Woke easily. He noted it all down, just before she blinked lazily, and–

"_You!_"

–jumped off the couch instantly, almost falling over in her haste and dashing, stumbling back a few steps, so that he was behind the couch and she safely distanced from him, watching warily like a hunted animal. "What the hell– you couldn't– you couldn't wait until morning?!"

Of all the reactions he had expected – fear, astonishment, paralysis from fear, and even maybe anger – this was one he hadn't hoped for. Annoyance. Most likely from losing her sleep, if she was complaining about the bad timing. Itachi suddenly wondered if she had even identified him in her millisecond of fear, and if she was awake enough to remember that he almost killed her only yesterday.

"I apologize for the surprise visit, Sakura-san," he started slowly, eyes fixed on her and watching for any reaction. None. He continued, still focused, "... were you not expecting us?"

Psychological tactics: reminding her that there was more than just one monster lurking in her fears, and that was a whole organization of criminals, and that they had every intention to make sure she kept to her word of keeping a secret. No doubt she already knew what he had done almost nine years ago, though, if she really knew his brother so well.

Whether he had glasses or not, even if there was no light in the room, he could see her tense.

"No," she breathed, lips barely moving, "No, I wasn't... Itachi-san."

She knew his name. Clever girl. He didn't need to ask where she had learned it from.

"But... why are you here?" It was a fair question.

He stayed where he was, behind the couch, one more barrier between him and her, if only to give the girl an illusion of safety. "You have not told, Sakura-san," he breathed, waiting for a flicker of guilt to pass by her face, a glance away as if that would redeem her, "Leader-sama may have been surprised, but us least of all." He meant himself and Deidara now – and why not? They had seen that loyalty firsthand, even if it was towards certain... _fools_, and it was not impossible to _take_ a share of her loyalty too.

She stared back at him, or perhaps she was staring over his shoulder to make a brave stance, but at least that was even a little admirable in his eyes. "I– I knew what you would have done if I didn't."

Really? A smile played at the edge of his lips. In the dark, he knew that she couldn't have seen it, yet she continued on, now with a tinge of... bravery? resistance? in her voice – "Sasuke-kun– you'll, you'll leave him alone, won't you?"

He didn't even need to ask, and there was his answer right there. She hadn't said a word, hadn't alerted that authorities, hadn't done anything that would have jeopardized the job on the Kabuto Disappearance she had witnessed. It was for Sasuke, or maybe it was just for herself and the life of her friend placed at risk, and either way, he had his answer.

As for his brother...

"Perhaps," Itachi said quietly, then turning to leave as he heard her gasp. He made it to the door before the stifled sob reached his ears (_again, she was crying over his brother __**again**_) and had only one slipper off before she ran over, caught his arm to hold him back. On instinct, he had his hand halfway inside his jacket, wanting to pull out something sharp or lethal out and use it on her, partially because it was what he did, and also because of her stupid, _stupid_ actions of rushing up to him and not expecting to be killed.

"Wait," she gasped, almost pulling him to her, "_Wait._ You– you can't... you can't put Sasuke into this too," She sounded as if she was trying desperately not to cry and failing, "_What do you even want from me?_"

_Because I can't let you pull him into this, you can't, and what I'd do for him surpasses whatever I'd do for you–_

Itachi wondered if he should tell her, if he should echo Deidara's words and tell her that her usefulness was her silence, her loyalty – if she hadn't told anyone of the incident she had seen involving an alley, a man and his partner's revolver, if she had lied so well that even they could be convinced that she was not a witness, if she would stay quiet for the sake of a friend...

Then there was use in that. Silence and loyalty – for whom she gave it to was the only problem, but as they had known, if certain things were not granted to them, it could be taken. Just like her. And what they had both seen was her fierce devotion, unfaltering and so capable of going through hell – and if they didn't have her loyalty, they could at least have her obedience.

Or maybe he could tell her that Deidara had thought her crazed honesty in the face of death and willingness to save her doomed friend admirable, and if he hadn't answered the call between kneeing his brother in the stomach and throwing him into the wall, Sasuke might have been dead and she wouldn't have kept her promise at all. There was use in that sort of stupid bravery too – a scapegoat or decoy that could hold her silence was useful.

It was all the same, if she was just a secret keeper.

Instead, he murmured, "You should already know what they are, Sakura-san," then kicked off the other slipper, bent down to replace them in her shoe drawer, and straightened up to see her sweeping the tears from her eyes.

"Wait," she gritted through her teeth, "what about your brother? Don't you... don't you even–"

"Care for him? No."

"But he's your _brother_," she whispered, so quietly that he almost missed the words.

"He is, and have you forgotten what I would have done to him?"

She shook her head numbly, remembering what he would have done to her too.

"Then you have my answer."

As he turned, he thought it was a choked sob that had broken out of her lips, then realized it wasn't – more of a hollow, bitter laugh.

"You... all of you are just the same," she said softly.

He didn't try to deny it as he left, then outside, with a barrier of wood between them, with his back against the door, heard a dull thud of Sakura punching something. Hard.

She wasn't crying at least. And as he had said to Deidara, she learned quickly.

**xXx**

Kisame presented him with a stack of loose change and a crumpled note when he came back, twenty-six past one in the morning and looking ready to collapse. "Deidara seemed to know he lost," was the only explanation, then he nodded towards said criminal's compounds, "Must have been a good explosion if he's sulking like that."

The radio blared, some early morning talk show that only insomniacs and nocturnal people listened to: _looks like now's the time to stock up on those umbrellas, rain still hasn't stopped and it's coming down __**heavy**__, folks, be aware that the best place to buy is – as we're supposed to advertise is–_

"I don't understand her," Itachi replied, sinking down into the couch beside Kisame, "not yet, at least. It might take time," He flicked his eyes to the radio, then paused.

"You seem to trust this girl," came Kisame's comment, "Good time for it too."

"For umbrellas? You think I should..."

Kisame smirked, nodded.

"They're dealing in some different alley now – hell, it might not even be _pure_, but if there's plenty of it..."

"Decent quality, though."

"Maybe, don't trust these new kids on the block– wait–"

Cheery radio voice continuing: _at Kawashima Department store, only on the second floor, ten shops to the left of the front entrance elevator–_

"Leader-sama really should make the directions easier," Kisame muttered under his breath, then stood up, rubbing his eyes, "Well then. If you wanted to know what I think, maybe you should plant some at your girl's place. If Deidara's bombs didn't scare her shitless, maybe the narcotics will."

If she had even known what those clay birds and spiders meant at all, Itachi thought, reaching forward to flick off the radio. But Kisame's suggestion...

He pocketed the two thousand yen. If Deidara would agree with him, he might even consider it.

**xXx**

For the rest of the week, nothing happened.

Sakura went through the weekend half-confused and watchful to whatever _change_ that might occur when she was away at school and not at home, but found nothing but clay creatures that she plucked out with gloved hands (her fingerprints didn't need to be found on them) and stuffed inside a plastic bag in her freezer. And after three hours of looking through her small apartment for bugs and listening devices and more of those clay things (the turtles were rather pretty though), she took the risk and went out.

The sunshine would have been more enjoyable if not for the little voice in the back of her mind nagging her to get back to the safety of her apartment and stop standing here doing _nothing._ It wasn't as if she didn't know that her flimsy apartment was a useless defense against Akatsuki members. By the time she was only half an hour from home, swinging her shopping bags from the crook of her arm, she saw it again.

That statue. The one in the market square that she was crossing and hadn't even realized, but it was _that_ statue. The one she had met the blond – _Deidara_ – by.

_God._ She couldn't be physically ill _here._

So she ran, ran out of the square and down the long way back to her flat (_no alleyways anymore_) and dropped the groceries onto the kitchen floor, and _not_ because of paranoia or anything to the sort, but as something evil and snickering insisted, began to recheck her living area. It was ten minutes before she found anything, and was suddenly grateful of the plastic gloves she was wearing, when she glimpsed the plastic wrapped package under the cushions of her couch.

_There has to be more than just one,_ she thought numbly as she poked it tentatively. Scattered all around her flat, most likely.

Ice. Fucking ice.

(However the hell that Uchiha bastard got into her apartment – and someone before him too, if that explained the clay model-things – she didn't care, but changing the locks suddenly became first in her priority list. If her landlord had nothing to say about it, then it'd be a straightaway _go and do it now_.)

As long as no one died from it, her conscience might just assuaged.

And she might do well with a ten-minute breather, because a full-fledged headache and a horrible turmoil in her stomach had suddenly begun to befall her.

Inhale. If these drugs really had that brilliant calming effect that others claimed it to have, she might need some. And even if she didn't, she still needed to avoid every single nook and cranny before someone came to take it away, because seeing it was bad enough. It was little like the clay bird that had been left in her room, staring accusingly at her before she had shoved it into the freezer – a wretched little reminder. Exhale.

But, came the thought as her gaze swung from the packet of white powder to the photograph atop her shoe drawer, if Sasuke-kun was alive, it was worth it.

_For how long though?_ something hissed, _how long until you break your vow of silence?_

Sakura bit her lip. Don't panic; stay clam; _breathe._ No, never, never if need be, and as long as her friends still cared about her and Naruto and Sasuke and Ino were alive, she'd keep to her word.

_Easier said than done. Easier said than done..._

**xXx**

On Monday, there was a blue-skinned man on her doorstep. Sakura stopped, looking up from the makings of the history assignment that she and Sasuke opted to do separately, listened to the succession of three knocks – two fast, one slow – and when she didn't move (was it a code, or wasn't it a code?), it came again.

Definitely meant something.

She left her books on her table and cautiously advanced towards the door, no sudden movements or noise, nothing to attract unwanted attention, and by the time she was making sure the door chain was secure, the third knock sounded more impatient.

_Oh, please don't break down the door yet, I like this door._

She pulled it open as far as it would go (prayed that the chain would not snap, rusty old thing it was) and stared at the stranger on the doorstep. Dressed almost alike to her last two unwanted 'guests', this one had a similar black suit jacket and tie, and a blue striped shirt under it. And his skin matched the colour of his shirt.

How pleasant.

Her mother had said once, _Sakura-chan, it's not polite to stare– no, I don't care if that boy carries his dog on his head; that's his own problem–_

Said boy turned out to be Kiba, who turned out to be a good friend that misplaced his motorcycles, and this one, _well he could end up being not too bad too, so Sakura please just __**stop staring–**_

"Haruno-san," the blue-haired stranger said, snapping her away from her train of thought, "Good evening."

"... hi." Let the chain stay intact, let the chain stay intact–

He smiled, showing a mouthful of pointed teeth that looked suddenly oddly _fitting _on a face like his. "You haven't been expecting me, have you?"

Exactly what Itachi had said: a method of identification for all of them who said that line? "Not really, no. Can't remember what you're here for, sorry– I– I forgot your name too, it's only been a week..." Was she blabbering now just because someone had appeared on her doorstep looking like... like something not completely normal-looking? (_Oh, look who's talking, you have pink hair–_)

"Samehada."

"Ah, yes. That's what they call you, isn't that right?" He looked strange, and while Sakura did not discriminate on looks, no one could look that weird and be unidentifiable as part of a criminal organization like Akatsuki.

"A friend of mine left his umbrella here."

"... yes? I don't think I remember–"

"I'm sure I could find it if you could not, Haruno-san." Not-subtle hinting that he wanted to get inside. _Oh, hell no._

"Mm-hmm? Which friend of yours is this, ah... Same– hada– san...?"

"Sasuke-kun. Fell asleep too; I had to drag him back, and forgot–"

There were suddenly no words to describe how much she hated them at that moment, them and their stupid intelligence and stupid members, and stupid–

"Oh, _Sasuke-kun._ Why didn't you say so _earlier_," Ino's acting lessons was paying off again. And she was going to be killed if she unlatched and opened the door for him, and _God,_ why why _why_ was she going to do it anyway?

Sakura threw a glance behind him as he came in – looking every bit as a youth protection service volunteer as the last two hard – and whoever-he-was obviously had seen it because he added, "I'm wasn't followed."

Not by someone that was dangerous maybe; a five-year-old might be curious enough do so. "Neighbours," she explained. She closed the door behind him, did up every lock possible before she turned to face him. "I can probably guess what you're here for."

"So you're this Haruno Sakura someone keeps on complaining about." He ignored her easily enough.

"Who complains about me?"

"Blond, half-crazy, thinks this place is the most dismal house he's ever set foot in – and I have to agree, actually–"

"What are you here for, _Samehada if that's your real name at all–_" Because she was not going to stand here and have her apartment insulted just because she couldn't have cared to paint the damn walls another colour _other_ than white.

"It's not. And you probably know, it's the same colour of..." the blue-skinned man waved a hand around his surroundings.

"I'm not sure where. No really, don't knife me for being honest, but I didn't exactly _look around_ for these things you plant in my flat." Except that one under one of her cushions – which didn't count because it was only proof of what was stashed around, and that one she could point him to easily enough, if only to make him leave faster.

"Give me five minutes," he continued, as if not hearing her at all, "and I hope you don't mind, Sakura-san."

She did. Oh, _she did, _so badly, she minded so much that she wanted to pull that handgun out from his jacket and use it on him, but–

But she couldn't, so she slumped back down at her table and buried her head in her hands, and tried to think about her assignment, which wasn't a decent distraction though, compared to the fact that there was a _man who looked like a shark_ looking through her cupboards (and shit, not her pseudo-closet, _she had her clothes in there_) and there was nothing to do about it. Except maybe help him, and helping him or _them_ in general was the last thing she wanted to do in this lifetime (the second being making that stupid deal in the first place).

It really did take him five minutes or thereabouts, and she spared him a glance to see that he held a black bag of questionable substances with his gloved hands, and only one question for her: "One's missing, Sakura-san." Almost as polite as Sasuke's murderous brother. "I don't suppose..."

"I don't do drugs. At this rate I'm considering it, but no." She heard his mirthless chuckle that almost seemed to say _yeah, I know,_ "Couldn't afford it, and it's under the couch. Wait – under the middle cushion, there's three." Had she just helped him? _Yes, because it helps me get him out of here quicker, damn it._

He found it easily enough.

"So can I ask your name now?"

"It's three syllables." Just like that knock on the door.

"_Samehada_ isn't three syllables."

"And it's not my name."

"Why can't you tell me?"

"And what will Leader-sama say about it if I did?"

She tensed. "You bugged my place." _Damn you, damn you, damn you–_

"And Deidara wants to know where his birds went."

"Birds– oh. That's what they were. Hmm." Paused, almost considering.

"I wouldn't have done something like that – he might have blown you up for it."

That certainly got her attention. "_Blow me up?!_" she shouted, unconsciously rising to her feet and smashing her hand against the table.

A vague smile touched his (blue) lips. "You're not even sure what Deidara _does_?" Sounded like he was mocking her now. And _no, _she was _not _ignorant; how was she supposed to know what that blond psychopath-murder _did_ other than make weird birds, and, and–

"_No. _No, oh God, no, what–" she slumped back down in her seat. Hiding drugs was one thing; keeping explosives inside her flat was another. _Oh God._

"Best be going now then, Sakura-san," was the cheery reply, as if her trepid wailing was nonexistent to him, and the bag of questionable substances disappeared into his pocket, as easily as a gun might, and by the time he was halfway done with removing a household slipper, she let her forehead hit the surface of the table with a dull _thud._

She was living in a minefield. _In a minefield,_ which, according to he who looked generally _blue,_ was simply what 'Deidara did'. It was horrible, absolutely and utterly horrible, so horrible she might have to consider–

–consider something that she'd have to think back on, because for some reason, He Who Looked Generally Blue was behind her, and his hand was on her shoulder, and it must have been the oddest thing she'd felt since that day in her apartment when she had thought someone had touched the top of her hair in a gesture of consolation.

"Um. You don't need to do that for whatever reason you're doing it for," she mumbled into the table. His grip seemed to tighten– _shit, how sharp were his nails?_

"You're a good enough kid, actually." Maybe he had selective hearing, because after all the times she had been ignored in the last eight or so minutes...

"Thank you?" she said, raising her head up from the table and glancing back at him, realized that she had felt his fingernails (_what, talons?_) through the material of his gloves, and wondered what sort of people they let into this organization.

"And my name is Hoshigaki."

"That's not three syllables either, _Hoshigaki-san._"

"If you do as they say, whatever Itachi-san and Deidara intend to do won't be as bad."

She noted the lack of honorific attached to the latter's name – casual, unintended, or just because he didn't like him either?

"... thank you?"

"Yeah, well. For your own good, really."

"Ah. Yes. I appreciate your concern... Hoshigaki-san." It served better than Blue Fish Man, at least.

He smiled wryly, and with that, left.

Sakura was left to contemplate which species Hoshigaki-san belonged to, what sort of name he had because it was really a bad one, and if her history assignment would ever be done with all these impromptu interruptions she already had.

_And I'm never helping him ever again. Or them. Collectively. Yes, collectively, one big group – NEVER. AGAIN._

... but what to do with the clay things in her freezer now, if they were liable to explode according to her visitor.

**xXx**

By the end of the school week, after the sudden arrival and departure of several mysterious objects appearing in her apartment (encompassing everything from clay birds to a few antique weapons), there was a note pinned to her refrigerator that was addressed with a simple _'Haruno-san'_ and contained only one other word: _congratulations._

There was obviously, Sakura deduced, something in her fridge. For her. As a note of congratulations for... for, what, exactly? For being dishonest and involving herself in criminal activity and not telling someone that she had a good portion of illegal drugs stashed at her place?

She thought about her gossipy neighbours and how they'd go on and on about _that dear boy, do you remember him? Looked so kind and polite, and turns out that they found twenty human heads in his freezer–_

Then she checked for wires at the sides, at the doors, anything that could be set to blow once she opened the refrigerator door.

_Now or never,_ something snickered, and although she preferred the 'never' because there wasn't much in there anyway, Sakura grasped the handle and _pulled._ There was nothing wrong.

Along with her normal groceries and a bag of thick _udon _noodles, there was a newcomer sitting in the middle rung of her small fridge: a clay bird with a note underneath it, and more importantly, a Styrofoam tray with three skewers of syrup-sticky _dango_. There was a price tag attached the latter, something which made her stare, and then because Mizuki-san's _dango _store was so far out of the city (she knew, had been there more than once, and the long trip had been worth it) and his reputation was unbeatable, she tugged the plastic covering off and examined it properly.

It looked rather good, actually.

Most poisons were colourless and odourless too.

And she was holding a tray of _dango_ because they must have found her favourite food too (what the hell had they done? Steal her primary school books where she had written _SAKURA-CHAN LOVES DANGO_ and Naruto had replaced _dango _with his name?) and she _hadn't eaten dango in so long._

Let alone Mizuki-san's. Maybe if her parents weren't so divorced and then they'd still be taking the occasional family outing, and–

–and _what the hell._ Death would be worth three sticks of dango, right?

She grabbed one and tugged the first piece off, and hell, where did they get it back from outside the city so quickly because it still tasted good, even if it was refrigerated, and the syrup still sticky and brilliant tasting, so...

Maybe they kidnapped Mizuki-san to make _dango _for her–

–_nah._ She wasn't that important, but it _was _worth it, and she tugged off the second one with her teeth. Halfway between chewing, she remembered the clay bird and the note under it, so she plucked it out with her free hand.

_It's a pigeon. Not a sparrow._

Odd. She was certain that she had been the only one in the room when she voiced her thoughts about his – it was his, wasn't it? – sculptures.

_I'm not sure how you and Weasel could love that mess._

Shit. Ruining her favourite food for her too?

_Keep to your word._

So what were those occurrences throughout the week? Some sort of whacked test?

_The blue one's called Kisame._

... what a weird name.

_Destroy this if you're still alive._

She stared at the last sentence, finished her dango, and dropped the note in the sink. After a moment, she found the matches, lit one up and dropped it in. The effect of watching the paper char and blacken would have been better if she poured oil in too. Through whatever method she used, she still wanted to send a response to Deidara: _I'm going to last longer than you'd ever believe._

And Sakura wasn't going to say it aloud, because her apartment definitely was bugged.

**xXx**

The day after the note was reduced to ashes, and only one skewer of _dango_ remained, the rain came down in a storm that seemed more like a flood.

And Deidara turned up on her doorstep, bleeding and completely soaked.

**xXx**

* * *

-

I've never heard of long-sleeved Kevlar either.

In Japan, people take their shoes off before entering a household – as everyone most likely already knows.

It is believed that _dango_ _could_ be Itachi's favourite food. Or it might not be. Hmm.

Explanations and the plot moves in Chapter Three.

Sorry it took so long. **Fallacy** (or **korinacaffeine**) BETA-ed this for me. Spread the love to _Found_ which everyone already has read by now, but that's not the point, so go and read it again.

Review?


	4. Gathering Rain

_The day after the note was reduced to ashes, and only one skewer of _dango _remained, the rain came down in a storm that seemed more like a flood. _

_And Deidara turned up on her doorstep, bleeding and completely soaked._

**

* * *

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**CHAPTER THREE**

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**GATHERING RAIN**

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* * *

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**xXx**

_After:_

"_Storm on the horizon," he used to say, staring out the window at the grey stormclouds, hands curling, uncurling in excitement; waiting. "Let's go catch it, ne?"_

_Downpours and sunshowers, the water saturated in his clothing and his hands sliding over her rain-slick skin before he pressed a open-mouthed kiss to her neck; and the way the city looked from the best viewing spot that only they knew about, like the world being washed anew. _

_Afterwards, she wasn't sure either to hate the thunderstorms or not._

**xXx**

_It won't stop raining, ever – it's cold –_

_Nothing ever changes._

**xXx**

It hadn't meant to turn out like this.

It hadn't meant to turn out like this.

_It hadn't meant to goddamn turn out like this._

He certainly hadn't gotten up at before dawn expecting to be bleeding before it was even noon.

Shit.

He glanced down, to where his hand was already clamped over the knife wound, watched the blood seep through his wet fingers, paling and mixing with rainwater.

_Shit._

He hadn't thought it'd be that deep. Or maybe he was looking at the wrong cut, the wrong limb, the wrong place. Or whatever that bastard had given him really had helped dull the pain. Great for his nerves, bad for everything else because he couldn't even properly _feel_ that he was bleeding to death.

(Afterthought: _a pathetic death._)

_No, not death._ He winced. It was just a unexpected minor injury among many others that was given without cause or fault—

Leader certainly Would Not Be Pleased.

But that was the least of his problems.

A greater problem was that his third-best suit jacket was now utterly ruined and slashed open at where they had tried to get him (uselessly) – as if it wasn't unsalvageable already from the bloodstains marring the outside (those bastards had the worst habit of slumping on him as they died)—

An even greater one was that there was no chance of walking out of the alleyways, looking as he looked – bloodstains and a bleeding arm amongst other things – without being caught dead by someone. Or shot dead. Worse.

(Where's that _bang_ you wanted to go out with?)

He wouldn't die here. If there was one thing he knew as he blinked rainwater out of his right eye, it was that he _wouldn't_ die here.

Slumped against a wall, Deidara gritted his teeth and glanced around furtively. He had to take the chance. (_Now or never._)

Because if he was where he _thought_ he was (and he was certain he was right), he'd be in safe hands (_considerably safe,_ something murmured in warning) before they came for him. The dealings hadn't gone so well, and he was walking, bleeding proof of it.

And they definitely would be coming for him.

It was only best if he had a headstart.

**xXx**

Saturday morning:

Thought Sakura a moment after tugging back the curtains and staring at the streaks of rain on her windowpanes:_ Oh, damn it. _

It was raining. Heavily.

She watched a neighbour's potted plant sway haphazardly on its windowsill before it toppled over and disappeared into the dreary grey surroundings and decided that she officially hated this hot, wet summer. And it was such a brilliant way to start off the day too – all she wanted was sunshine and all she had was a bout of rain and nothing to do. Except be stuck inside. Bored. With nothing to do. Except maybe study, and that was boring too, but no, boring meant nothing if it had good grades, and all Sakura really wanted (besides many other things that had not been fulfilled) was those good grades and things of academic achievement, and then she'd finally be out of _here._

West side Konoha. Anything to be out of here – anything, because no one deserved to be stuck in a place like west side Konoha with all its backalleys and constant sour gloominess.

It wasn't as if she didn't know what 'not fair' meant. It was just better for the world to spend a lifetime learning what she had figured out within her short teenage lifespan.

_But first,_ she resolved, as she stretched and shrugged out of her nightwear, _breakfast._

Yawning, she flicked on the faulty television and wandered into the kitchen. It was Saturday, she remembered, and even if it wasn't a family day (not anymore, a part of her muttered), it was a _relaxing_ day. Which meant making a grander breakfast than usual – she could splurge a bit and for old times' sake, it would be worth it.

_So much for that if it's only for one,_ another voice added.

Sakura gave herself a good shake. _No. You __**don't **__think like that._

On the brighter side, she reflected, she certainly had enough to spare if she cooked for herself, and with weather like _this_, no one would even _think_ of dropping over.

… well, maybe Naruto if he forgot to shop for groceries again, had nothing to make breakfast _with_, and suddenly figured that it was best to drop over at someone's – usually Sasuke's, who shared begrudgingly, and sometimes her if he wasn't bothered to make the longer trip – doorstep, stomach growling and grinning without a care in the world.

She smiled at the thought as she measured out rice grains. Unexpected company indeed.

**xXx**

Halfway past the third turn and a few more alleyways to get down, Deidara realised that whatever had numbed the pain in his arm had also effectively killed off any way he could have discovered that he was poisoned.

_Well, fuck._

If he was poisoned. Best if he wasn't, but whatever Itachi had given him was starting to wear off too, he also noted as he leaned against the wall. Carefully, he tried to roll up his jacket to inspect the wound, and realised that he couldn't do that either as the first ripples of pain ran up his arm.

That, or it was the could-be poison. It also began to throb.

_Don't think about it,_ he thought and wondered if it was worth ripping off the sleeve as he was now Likely chance of infection, yes, but it also meant that the blood from the open wound wouldn't cling so persistently to his clothing and make movement more painful—

Deidara paused. _What was—?_

He had heard something. He had _definitely_ heard something. Something shuffling, something not entirely careful in its movements though trying to be (_not rats;_ he wasn't novice enough to be followed by _rats_), something—

–he shuffled three cautious steps to the right, ducked into the nearest alley and knelt down, disappearing behind a stack of moulding cardboard boxes. The scope on his left eye activated itself as he peered through odd cracks and corners.

Movement. Motion. Not rats, unfortunately, but something much bigger.

He squinted.

And now he was being followed.

_Damn._

If they had infra-red technology and the like, or worse, along with them – as he had – they'd find him in an instant. If there were three of them, and if it was the three he had heard of, they were trained to distinguish sound and they'd hear him (and find him) too easily. And this was no time to leap out and return gunfire if need be. He'd have to fix himself eventually – the girl wouldn't raise a finger to help him – but this was not the place for it, not out in the open where they could catch him.

_Safety first._ Get to the apartment; avoid the goddamned scouts; make sure he wasn't being detected or followed. Surely they hadn't tracked that rendezvous point down? He could find Itachi later – or at least make sure he was still alive somewhere. Yes. Definitely. Itachi could watch his own back. Patching himself up and explaining his sorry self to Leader-sama could come later.

But even as he stumbled on, going down the longer route that he could only hope that they did not find (_no, that was not dizziness blurring his eyesight—_), Deidara wondered how it might have felt to have her run her hands down his bloodied arm as gently as he had seen her hold that Uchiha boy.

**xXx**

Add water to rice, leave it in the rice cooker, let it stand until it's done—

Sakura mentally checked off each before filling the kettle up. Boiling water. For the soup and the green tea and to make sure that the tea packet wasn't wedged among some clay models she hadn't found yet; and she was running out of _miso_ paste, must buy more—

It was routine and practical, and even if the only person to enjoy her cooking was herself, at least it was _calming_. She might even be content with staying inside all day, because there was work to be done, among other things, and studying – she had to study, too; yes, that was another thing on her to-do-list.

She didn't need to think about how she would be making larger portions of everything if she was still living with her parents. Which was the worst part, because even though she could do very well without the family outings to get _dango_, she missed them. Hated to admit it too, because then her mother would draw her in what was supposed to be a 'comforting embrace' and use it to eat at her father's guilt, accusing him of _not being there for her_ and _that _waswhy she should have custody of Sakura-chan, as she was a _far_ better parent than he. They'd get back at each other eventually, and after that, she'd feel be guilty and remember why moving out had been the best option (for her, at least).

(Oh, she knew what 'not fair' was. It accounted for many things – like her parents being so damned selfish, and her monthly rent, and her lonely little apartment in the west side of Konoha because neither parents' abode was _home_ anymore, and so many other things that didn't happen to other teenagers, especially not to those with pink hair and weird genetics and crazy mood swings and— well, she coped, she _was_ coping, and she would cope as long as she needed to cope.)

Best not to think on those thoughts, Sakura knew, and sidled out to watch the morning news as the kettle started. The television screen crackled and flickered with static at random intervals, something that did not change even after she smacked it once, twice ("Shikamaru's not going to fix it for me again...") but she paused as the newsreader began frantically with a 'situation' near Kawashima Department Centre, and it was a situation involving _guns_ and _shooting_, and no one at all knew why it had happened (save the perpetrators themselves) – if it had been another gang battle, or if some teenagers had gotten hold of firearms and too much alcohol, or if it had been something more sinister—

—_but could all witnesses come forward to the Konoha Police Force, and it is best for civilians to keep indoors, and if any known relatives were caught in the crossfire, please contact—_

She shuddered at the thought. No chance she was going anywhere near another crime scene again—

—_that's one crime scene and one __**potential**__ crime scene, actually—_

—and it was too early for this; it was just barely nine and her Saturday was already being ruined by rain and certain idiots with guns and using them in a crowded area. She watched as live footage of the shooting unfolded on screen, in all the glory of amateurish mobile video recording, lacking blood, but with a clear view of what the hell had been going on early that very morning.

Sakura hoped her hands weren't shaking when she moved forward to turn the volume up a notch.

In doing so, she was given a better glimpse at what must have been... a black jacket standing still. Attached to a figure. She squinted because the person almost blended _into_ the wall they were leaning against and the camera jerked suddenly, the video blurring, but the figure didn't run off, which was odd, what with all the chaos around him? her? Whoever it was simply stood there, leaning against the side of the department store, maybe biding their time to avoid the stampeding, panicking crowd before escaping, and—

_Oh, my—_

Black hair and jacket and black _everything_ except for a strip of pale flesh left uncovered – his face, that must be it, and she was suddenly so very glad that a pair of dark glasses obscured what little she could see of it, because it covered his eyes too, his calm, murderous _eyes_—

It was like the image was burned into her retinas, megapixels of deconstructed colour made to form a single horrible, _horrible_ form –

_Uchiha Itachi?_

She leaned back, staring at the television screen – which suddenly flickered again at the best, worse time ever – and rubbed her eyes hard. _No, I don't need glasses. Yes, my eyesight is good. Brilliant, even. No, I'm not insane, and yes, I swear to God, that was—_

_Calm down. Calm. Down._

Probability. She knew all about probability, because it was related to maths and she excelled at maths, and the probability that little black figure looking so calm amidst the panic and chaos around him was Uchiha Itachi? Small. Very small. Many people wore black, even in horrible weather like this, and there were also many people that had lived through situations worse than this, so _they_ would also know what to do – stay calm, avoid tall buildings lest something fell on them, find shelter—

_Calm down._

She hit the television again, a little rougher than what was needed because it started to buzz. It flickered again, back to normal (as best as it could, being outdated and all) just as the footage snapped to a sudden ending and she saw the figure turn, blurring, but in that nanosecond, she swore that she had seen _something_, something that made her so certain it was the man she thought it was. And stupid as it sounded, she had to be right. _Had_ to be, because weasels were tricksters, weren't they?

Maybe it was the lack of breakfast combined with the irritation of _life being horrible_ that was making her think this, but in that moment before the footage stopped completely, she swore she saw something more dark and foreboding standing exactly where the Uchiha was supposed to be.

That, or her television had completely screwed up. She flicked it off and settled down, back against the lower part of her couch to think.

... well. She needed breakfast right now. There was still one stick of _dango _left in her fridge, _thank god for that_, and if nothing, at least it was _one_ good thing to come out of today.

She was halfway to the kitchen, having remembered that her water must have been boiled by now, and finally, she'd get her breakfast – as soon as she finished cooking it at least – when something thumped against her front door.

**xXx**

_One of the three was a goddamn idiot who walked into the detonation he had set down at the end of an alley. Hadn't even realised that the clay pigeon drifting in a stream of rainwater wasn't some stray child's toy – it was his **art. **Pity he hadn't the time to appreciate too, because by the time Deidara was clutching his arm and getting the hell out of the alleyway-labyrinth, he heard the minor explosion, the vague final scream; felt so giddy that he almost tripped over himself in his haste to turn around, to **laugh**._

_Only there was no time for that. But that served them right, he thought, triumphant, as he skittered back and ducked behind a corner, to think he'd be caught so easily. He was **Akatsuki** – and Akatsuki were not hindered by—_

_The poison had his arm spasming and then the muscles tightening rapidly, and he almost bit through his lip in holding back a shout of pain (no screaming, Deidara, no screaming because you're not some amateur with bombs, you're an **expert**)._

_If his calculations were right, then the second one would come dashing around the corner, screaming for her dead partner—_

Up the stairs, two at a time; breathe—

The poison in his system, it was stifling, it was choking—

His vision spun for a moment and Deidara cursed the lack of working elevators the housing block had; _no, no, don't think like that_.

Legs aching, must have missed a cut, the blade smoothed with poison, slashing his arm, through the cloth, bleeding—

Next to his mangled arm, it was nothing. His arm he could barely move – the muscles drawn tight, inflexible, unable to be loosened; _well, goddamn, _what was he supposed to knock with?

—_his calculations were wrong, but that was not a problem at all, because he dispatched the second easily enough and snapped his neck, cutting off a last scream ("Ki—!"), kicked his slumped body to the floor before his arm began to twitch uncontrollably, and thank god that the boy was dead because he doubted he could have finished him with his hand and arm rendered useless._

_He shoved something into the corpse's mouth with his good hand and left its eyes half-lidded, half-open, a good trap for the last girl._

The girl he _really_ should have killed.

He inhaled hard, almost choked like–

An asthma attack?

–like something was closing up his lungs, airways constricting and coupled with the burning pain in his limbs—

Ah, well, that was one poison he had an antidote for, a basic one well enough, effective but too long to start working properly, and it must have been mixed with another because there was no way to explain why he couldn't feel, yet alone move an entire arm now.

"_Forgot me, did you?"_ _she half-laughed, half-shrieked in triumph as she circled around him, utility knife twisting in hand while he shuddered and clutched at his ears._

_Sound. __**Sound**__. He had— goddamn, he was such a fool—_

_There was something screeching, something ringing, something like bells and how the hell was something so harmless getting to him?_

_The ringing didn't stop, didn't stop even as he fumbled and clutched inside his jacket, fingers closing around something cool and solid and familiar – __**ah, there**__—_

_And then it did when her laughter stopped as well, cut short so suddenly as she had prepared to come down on him, the shot having hit its mark, and he felt like sneering at her, but no—_

_No time for it, no time at all (his arm was on fire, was __**burning**__—), but there was still time to—_

_Made it._

He _made_ it.

And damn it, he was most likely being followed, if not by the lone survivor but by the back-up she must have called while he had fled and left her in that alley.

He was easy game as far as he was concerned – not even finding the time or strength to finish someone was called _weakness._ With his respiratory system fucking up on him, he couldn't even bother contesting that.

Deidara slammed his shoulder against the front door (was he leaving bloodstains?), and then again, hoping, praying that he wasn't being followed; looked over his shoulder, behind him (_blurring_)—

—was he imagining those footsteps, the thud of feet on the stairs—

There was the click of locks being undone, latch opening, and when it did, he could only think of getting inside and hell be damned if she wasn't happy with it; and then he tumbled inside with all the grace of a dying cat.

He vaguely noted the odd, slight dash of pastel pink in his vision before he collapsed into a pair of arms.

**xXx**

At two minutes past nine in the morning, Deidara turned up on her doorstep, bleeding and completely soaked, and Sakura's first thought was that her Saturday could not have gotten any worse.

The second was that he was suddenly lurching forward – _collapsing _– almost right _onto_ her had she not thought to fling out her arms to brace herself.

She caught him instead – maybe as an instinct, maybe from being too aware –, falling to her knees and bringing him down with her.

For a moment, she thought she was holding a dead man, because she could feel the icy, rain-drenched coldness of his skin through his clothes. Only he wasn't so dead as he heaved himself up – or tried to, and failing that, leaning into her as a means of support – and Sakura suddenly realised with horror that she was willingly helping one of _them_.

_Drop him. Drop him __**right now.**_

And he was bleeding onto her. There was blood on his already-darkened suit jacket and blood on his shirt, and that blood was getting onto her, and _dear lord, girl, you're holding a murderer._

"Followed," he hissed through his gritted teeth, the side of his head against her shoulder, and she quickly leant forward to slam the door shut. As she dragged him with her and flattened her back against her front door – _breathe, calm down Sakura_ – she cursed anyone up there if _this_ was their idea of funny and wondered how she would most likely _never_ have more unexpected company in her life

_Wait for the danger to pass,_ she thought, eyes closed and leaned the back of her head against the door, breathing shallowly, _wait for the danger to goddamn pass._

Deidara, for his part, thankfully, said nothing.

It was silent for a minute, as Sakura tensed and shuddered before she felt Deidara shift slightly and cracked open an eye to watch him one-handedly rip open the hem of a trousers leg and extract a small plastic-wrapped syringe.

_What?_

Wordlessly, she watched him struggle to widen a rip in his jacket's upper arms and then do the same for his shirt sleeve to reveal the bruised skin underneath. She was barely aware that she winced until he frowned, broke the seal off the syringe-packet and without a second's hesitation, slid the needle end in into his bicep.

Almost immediately, she felt him relax in her arms, feeling more like deadweight than ever, which reminded her that _she was still helping him. _

She could drop him, she thought, heart jumping at the thought. She could just throw him to the ground and fling the door open – it could be the police, after all – and scream and run until they found him and took him away and then her nightmare could be over. The door wasn't even unlocked – she had no time in closing it and redoing the latches, the locks. She didn't even need to do much even – didn't even need to open the door, just drop him and leave him and hide while he bled to death on her flooring.

_Only—_

Only the rest of them would be coming for her after Deidara's death.

Only it didn't stop Uchiha Itachi from hurting Sasuke-kun if need be.

Only it was impossible that any member of Konoha's Police Force _could_ track _Akatsuki_, but so very possible that there could be worse beyond her door.

Only she couldn't leave a man to bleed to death in her apartment because it was _her_ apartment and she vaguely _knew_ this man and while she wanted nothing to do with them, she didn't want to kill him.

_Even though he was so ready to kill __**you**_, something hissed.

Maybe Deidara was channeling her thoughts, because he suddenly glanced upwards, up at her, one blue eye narrowed – the same blue she had noticed to be so astounding at the foot of that statue in that market square – and wordlessly warning her.

_This is the man who threatened you, shoved you to a wall, almost murdered you in an alleyway—_

She couldn't have. Or maybe her conscience was choosing the worse time possible to surface, and either way, it was too late, because the sound of sharp footsteps outside reached her ears (what he must have warned her about). All she could do was keep quiet.

And wait for the worse to pass.

**xXx**

"He's here?"

Footsteps, the sound of people walking back and forth past her door, talking in low undertones.

"Has to be."

"And what if you fuck up like last time? Check around, Sparky – you go up, I'm staying here."

"You—" someone swearing, then more footsteps, leaving, "fucker. _Fine._"

"And you— what the hell took you?"

"Security guard, landlord – whatever he was – was ready to ring up the fucking cops—"

"… we don't have time to clean up the corpse, darling. Go get rid of it."

"You son of a—"

"_Go. Now._ They're getting shit-ass pissed right now— _fuck,_ or _you_ can go face Kabuto-sama and tell him the fucking facts."

—Sakura tensed and remembered the garage, the police tape, the news (Yamamoto dead; 'assistant' missing) and the alleyway, the mirrors, the man shot dead at point-blank—

—_Kabuto?_

There was something horribly wrong with this. From Deidara's look and his half-worn apart self, her fears were only confirmed.

Silence. Then more swearing outside, more footsteps – _oh god, more of them_ – and Sakura shut her eyes and prayed as her heart thundered wildly in her chest, _oh, go already, please, please._

It felt like hours before they did, and she was half-amazed that none of her neighbours had sprung out, shouting and cursing at them and killed for their interference. She waited and waited and just as she began to forget about the burden in her arms, Deidara began to move off her.

And Sakura realised that he was still bleeding. On himself, on her, on her floor, and how was she going to get the stains out?

_You're not going to help him,_ came the matter-of-fact inner voice, _he's a murderer and he would have killed you and he would have killed Sasuke-kun and where __**do**__you think the blood's from?_

She wouldn't. She _wouldn't._ But there was something that was hurting inside her to see Deidara settle away from her and into a low crouch, flexing and unflexing his injured, bleeding (_oh god so red_) arm, before he shuddered and almost collapsed but _didn't_ ("Oh, honestly, _you guys,_ it's not like testosterone makes you damn invincible—") because, because—

—_because he's dangerous and he deserves that pain, so you can leave him, damn it—_

—because he was hardheaded and stubborn and Sakura doubted he would want what she was offering, but _that_ didn't stop her reaching out a (not-trembling) hand and shaking his shoulder and asking him quietly in barely a whisper (_I can't believe you're doing this, stupid_) if he needed any help with that because she did know first aid.

**xXx**

If there was ever such a thing as God, which Deidara highly doubted, he'd be laughing as of now. Deidara didn't believe in God though – he believed in art and motion and the fleeting moment of ecstacy and that people died no matter what they did; and he also believed in betrayal and self-preservation and caution because one did not come into the Akatsuki without knowing at least two of the three and hope to survive for at least a day.

(_"Willingly or unwillingly—"_

—was never part of the question.)

For a moment, he considered dropping his guard when the pink-haired girl outstretched her hand and made her offer and then killed the thought because while she could have unwillingly, bitterly keep a secret, there was no thinking what she _could_ do to him in his current condition.

He couldn't even move an _arm._ There was something nagging him, something in the back of his mind muttering that he _knew_ what poison it was, and he was _sure_ that he had, only…

"I can take care of myself, un." And to _prove_ it, he staggered up to his feet, not looking at her as she sat there, raggedly cut hair and worry over her face and fucking sympathy and all (_you'll have to lose that trust if you want to get through this, dear_), took one step and felt the pain run through his leg, and then another—

—before he heard the lightness of her feet hit the ground after she leapt up and the steps she took, before her arm slid around his shoulders and gripped _hard_ on his bloodied, torn jacket and the other crossing over his stomach and holding him to her; and then Deidara really considered if this was irony or fate was just a bitch, because while it was a good faux-imitation, this was not loyalty or trust or something useful.

"I don't need your—"

_Your pity; your sympathy and whatever guise you use to hide it because you don't know anything about me to feel sorry for whatever you don't know about._

"—help,"he forced out through gritted teeth, damning her and damning her pity and how he couldn't push her off when he was about bent double with pain.

"This isn't _help,_" she answered back, equally contemptuous but eyes averted, "This is you not bleeding to death in my apartment and you staying alive so that _Uchiha Itachi,_" she spat his partner's name out like it was diseased (at least one thing he could agree with),"will leave his brother alone."

Unsaid because he knew there was a reason why she couldn't bear to look at him: _because then he'll leave me alone too, because you're in pain and it's easier to hate you when you're being a terrifying bastard instead of being unable and hurt like you're an actual __**person.**_

"So who is _this_ for? For your life or that Sasuke-kun of yours, un—?"

"Whoever it's for, it's not you."

_Touché._

He shut up, up until they reached the bathroom and out of nowhere, Sakura started: "It's for my friends. It's for me. It's for you if you want to think of it that way, Deidara-san,"

Which did nothing to elaborate or even explain to why she was sullying her hands with the blood of a murderer's and his victims. He was about to ask her what the hell she meant when his vision started spinning – _wait— didn't I— _

It was either the poison or the aftereffects of the antidote he had injected into himself. He preferred the latter.

"Hey—" he began, wanting to tell her to leave him and get the hell out before she had to watch him cut open a vein and bleed the poison out— or maybe that would just kill him and not—

—and he clearly wasn't thinking right anymore because he had just clutched onto her like a lifeline (_what are you doing?_), only managing to gasp her name out and not the warning, before his vision went black.

**xXx**

_Whoever it's for, it's not you,_ she had said.

So who was she doing this for? It certainly had nothing to do with Sasuke-kun because he wasn't here at the present moment, and it wasn't for her because she had little to gain from this (aside from maybe… well, them deciding that this act redeemed her from everything and completely exited, stage left, from her life henceforth) and if she was doing it for him…?

Sakura bit her lip as she gently levered the unconscious man into her shower. Check for bleeding. Tend to his wounds after flushing out bacteria with water. Find that first aid kit you never needed until now to patch a murderer up. And maybe try and figure out why he fainted on top of her – blood loss likely, dehydration possible, medications…

… did she even want to help him?

Her heart skipped a beat. _Did she?_ She rubbed her throat gingerly, remembering him almost strangling her, remembered his odd words of advice when Itachi pointed a gun at her and that blue person – Samehade, or Kisame, or whatever – telling her that her house was a minefield.

_Make up your mind already,_ that infuriatingly _correct_ inner voice added.

She should be terrified, Sakura thought distantly. She should be terrified and backing away into a corner and not tearing her eyes away from his still, unconscious form until she was sure he stopped breathing, stopped moving for good. It had nothing to do with the promise she made to Itachi, nothing to do with the secrets they wanted kept—

She should be wishing him dead because of what he could have done to her, to her friends, for what he _had_ done in the mirrored-alleyway. She should be cursing _his_ type with every single breath she had.

She should do the right thing and the right thing was justice because no one was exempt from _justice._

Sliding the shower curtain aside and hooking it securely to prevent it from swinging at the worst times possible, Sakura figured that because she was eventually going to be a doctor and doctors treated the rich, the poor, the ill, the diseased, the malformed, that like justice, a doctor was impartial; and because of that, this _was_ the right thing.

Not ethically, though.

Maybe morally. Maybe not even that.

She started up the shower taps and was only starting to adjust the water (not too hot, not too cold because it still needed to kill bacteria) when Deidara snapped back to consciousness. It was a bit like waking a sleepwalker, something which she had once seen before, and it was as far as her memory could recall, utterly disastrous.

He jerked into motion, eyes snapping open and gasping hard, moving like an epileptic would until his back hit the wall (painfully) and it wasn't until she lunged and shook his shoulders that he snapped out of it.

"What the fuck—"

"You fainted," she said shortly, settling him back down against the wall and reaching up to turn the water off, "And I'm helping you."

"And you don't need to—"

"I _want _to,"

In some sense, she did. That, and it almost hurt to see something like an epileptic fit.

_Almost hurt to see him like that..?_

She killed the thought immediately.

He was silent for a moment, looking oddly solemn for someone sitting utterly soaked and clothed in her _shower,_ staring at her hard – either analysing her body language and making sure she wasn't really going to attack him with a kitchen knife, or just wanting to make her feel nervous and reconsider and back the hell away from him. Sakura stared evenly back. (It was a bit like getting into a staring contest with Sasuke, which was a stupid thing to think of because she wanted to giggle at the thought – how inappropriate – and also because no one else out-stared Uchiha Sasuke.

Except Shino if he ever bothered to answer to Sasuke's suggestion of a rematch and _next time, no glasses Aburame_. And Shikamaru gave up too easily to ever make it funny.)

"Do you even know how to, un?"

Sakura turned her back to him and rummaged through the closet under her sink and eventually came up with her rather dusty first aid kit.

Deidara made an inaudible noise with could have been giving in or reluctant agreement. She slid the latch open and laid the kit out on the floor.

_Well._ _Major wounds and bleeding first, _she decided, remembering the bruises she had seen.

"Anything you need to tell me first? Allergies, aversions, stuff like that?"

"Left arm's done over. Can't move it."

That she had not expected. "You what?"

Her patient smiled grimly. "It's poisoned. Or some shit like that, un. And don't get that look, Sakura-chan—" damn it, he _wasn't supposed to call her that_, "I'd show you and all, except…" he held up his left arm for her.

"Exactly what—"

"Blood's sticking. I'd pull it off and deal with it, but that's what you'd prefer to do, I guess."

She had known she would have to take his tattered jacket and shirt off if she wanted to do something about the bruises, and while cutting it off wasn't irrational, she hesitated.

"Knife's in the left pocket, un." And then a nod downwards.

As she reached downwards to find it, Sakura knew that she was above blushing. _Much_ above blushing. Maybe he wouldn't think her incompetent if he didn't see. But when she tugged it out and thumbed the handle hesitantly, she noticed Deidara giving her a long hard look that had nothing to do with intimacy.

"You sure you want to do this?"

"If you're warning me about something—"

And then his right hand shot out and closed over her wrist, and even though she could feel his fingers and arm shaking (from pain?), he was being dead serious.

"Look. You? Getting into this? I'm sorry and all, kid, but doing _this_ for you, for me, for fucking _whoever _isn't going to get you any brownie points or make it any easier—"

"—get to the point—"

"It's _not nice._ You don't want to get into this. And you're not cut out for jobs like medi—"

She would have told Deidara to _go fuck yourself_ if she had the time to, because if he was doubting any of her abilities, he was more of an ungrateful son of a bitch that she ever thought. If he was doubting her, he obviously didn't trust her, which was absolutely fine with her, but it still meant he didn't trust _what_ she could do. If he doubted her, he'd be like everyone else.

Like her parents. Exactly like her parents.

And she didn't have the time to snap profanities back at him because she jerked her hand away and caught his wrist instead (damn him if his hand, his _arm_ hurt from it, _she_ didn't need to care if he didn't want her to) and snapped open the pocketknife blade, slid it under the first layer of jacket and _pulled_ upwards.

As the cloth split, Deidara didn't even look triumphant. Or malicious. Or anything of the sort because he wasn't looking at her, but the wide red splotch on his shirt sleeve.

Sakura decided that she wouldn't need to look at him either as she carefully peeled away the torn jacket sleeve up to the elbow (_don't doubt me. __**Don't**__ doubt me._) And she wouldn't let herself by distracted by the abundance of blood.

_What if it wasn't all his?_ Her conscience was starting to surface.

_No. Don't think about that._

She slid the blade more carefully in the space between the top of his wrist and the persistently sticking cloth, turned it carefully and pulled up. It might have been utterly anti-climatic because there was no reaction from him but hers would have made up for it.

Sakura almost wanted to drop the pocketknife in shock. (_Only you won't because he's __**wrong**__ and you __**are**__ cut out for medical tasks—_)

Worse than she had expected. Much worse. The split in his skin was wide and jagged and the cut deep _and there was so much red._ It curved, (careless; not a clean cut) stretching an inch from his wrist up to the bend of his elbow and even if they hadn't hit anything that would cause too much heavy bleeding, it was— it was—

"Oh my—"

Then she really did drop the knife and it clattered harmlessly to the tiled floor as Deidara snorted and Sakura clamped her hands over her mouth in shock.

Almost unexpectedly: "You don't want to see the rest of them, then?" He must have been mocking her, except she didn't hear any satisfaction in his voice, and what did it matter because he was so _calm_ despite looking at his own skin split open and revealing his _insides_, and what did _that_ matter because—

—_don't doubt me_—

—because she didn't need to think about those things if she had to fix him; and instead of a 'no,' instead of a 'I can't help you because you're obviously mad,' Sakura asked _how many_.

**xXx**

Haruno Sakura was a fool. A fool with a very lacking first aid kit and what must have been a very stupid conscience.

If she hadn't gotten herself involved, she would just be the teenager at the foot of a statue that gave him the directions to the garage so that he could kill a man. And he wouldn't have cared what happened to that rebellious looking pink-haired girl because he would have forgotten about her.

He didn't hate her or pity her or take enjoyment out of the fact she was most likely distraught with worry from their deal. Sadism was never that entertaining – that was Itachi's field, he supposed – and fear and desperation and all that good stuff never made good art in his opinion.

Haruno Sakura was nothing to him. She was just a person who kept a secret, who could be relied on to keep her mouth shut if certain incidents happened (like crashing in while injured and waiting for his partner to get to the rendezvous point) and who would not breathe a word about what they stashed in her apartment.

She was part of the job. Deidara knew that because he had put her into it, because she was convenient and useful and just another name shared amongst Akatsuki members (who and who did this, who and who's location was a safe-house, who was their inside spy and who would be killed next) and if she died—

—her divorced parents, one Haruno Masaki and one Haruno Koji would mourn, as well as Uzumaki Naruto (male), Uchiha Sasuke (male), Yamanaka Ino (female), Nara Shikamaru (male), Hyuuga Hinata (female), Inuzuka Kiba (male), etcetera, etcetera of Konoha Academy—

Haruno Sakura was shy and smart and not too outspoken but not a complete introvert and if she died, she was just another death in the west side of Konoha.

(And Deidara would not have cared if he hadn't known that she would have willingly cut his clothes off with his pocketknife in her shower.)

**xXx**

It wasn't that hard to dress him down and look at every scar, every cut on his upper half as she tugged away bloodied cloth and bared more and more of his skin. Slide the blade across, flat side against his skin; turn it carefully until the sharper edge makes a resistance under the (remains of his) clothing; pull up and pull away the debris as gently as possible even though Deidara says nothing and only barely winces _which is creepy because this mustn't have been the first time._

And repeat.

If she really wanted to, Sakura didn't doubt that she could have made a complete join-the-dots picture from Deidara's faded scars alone.

It had taken a while to fix up the first and the deepest cut, even disregarding the time she had to make it stop bleeding so heavily. (And the rest would be easy compared to that. Had to be.) As she had done so, her patient had said nothing, barely moving and always keeping his eyes on her every movement as she filled up a basin of warm water and washed the wound carefully and slicked a stinging antibiotic over it, before wrapping it up with gauze and tape and bandages; and only managed a vague reply when she said he would need stitches and to find a proper doctor as soon as possible.

That had been the worse. There were so many degrees of _wrong_ to it – from how the water turned red almost immediately to how he could only stare and stay silent until she was unnerved by it.

And then there were his _hands._ Sakura had never seen them before – not really, in a sense, because they were always gloved and when he finally let her peel them off (with difficulty), there were _mouths_ on his palms. Tattooed in, to some extent, but so much _realism_ that she had let go of his hands in surprise.

"An accident," Deidara had said, "or _two _accidents actually, un," and that there had to be some way to cover it up, so when she looked closer, it was only the teeth and lips and inside of the mouth that was inked in because nothing could be done to the part that looked like raw meat and served as a 'tongue' to the whole picture.

(And suddenly, she realised, there was some sort of nakedness to him, like something was stripped away and a secret revealed and he seemed so _human, _so capable to be hurt.)

So when she had gotten to peeling away the remains of his clothing from his upper half, she had grown less and less surprised. He was a criminal – of course there would be injuries. Being Akatsuki only increased the chance of more. Even so, there had been an odd burst of interest mingled with surprise and horror when she had seen a long dark jag across his left breastbone, something stitched shut with thick black thread and she had almost outstretched a hand to touch it in curiosity.

If he had been anyone else, Sakura could have felt sorry for him. And then she carefully tugged away the last of his shirt, poured away the bloodied water and settled back on her haunches to regard the half-dressed, scarred man sitting in her shower.

_Not much bleeding but plenty of wounds. Stop bleeding first and wash afterwards. Make sure you haven't run out of antibiotics or else you're really, really screwed. And gauze. And bandages. And make sure—_

"How do you feel?" she started, feeling suddenly awkward when neither had spoken for a while. (How long had it been? She lost track of time after looking at scars and wounds and—)

"Like shit, yeah."

"And your arm?" her eyes flickered to it and the first bandage she had applied.

"Can't move it and I'm not going to. The poison's probably one involving paralysis—"

"How—"

"Leave it, un. There'd be nothing you could do about it," he continued, almost completely ignoring that _he was poisoned_ and _he couldn't move_ and _oh that goddamned idiot_.

In general, ignoring the problem never got anyone anywhere. Least of all her.

"But—"

"I'd rather not bleed to death," he added, reminding her of the present situation.

_Well, fine,_ Sakura grumbled mentally as she stood to fill up her basin with warm water again, _die from poison, for all I could care._

… and she didn't care. Not one bit. At all.

It was only when she was opening up a new bottle of antiseptic (just to be on the safe side) that Deidara finally said something that was not out of pure necessity.

"Say something, un."

She hid her surprise with a quick retort – "Why don't you? I can't concentrate on _this_ if I'm talking to you,"

"For starters, it's as boring as fuck. And I'd be dying of boredom if being poisoned didn't make things bad enough as it is. And if three's a charm, 'silence is golden' is overrated, un."

Most people would have dealt with 'boring as fuck' by themselves.

"_You_ start talking then. I need to _concentrate._" To punctuate that, she started to dab a washcloth over a cut on his left arm.

He muttered something under his breath that was most likely vulgar and directed at her.

It was silent for a moment, as he leaned against the wall of her shower cubicle and she applied antiseptic as gently as possible, before: "There's nothing to talk about."

Sakura paused between sparing her gauze and bandages to choose band-aids instead. "Tell me about you," she said almost absently as she dug through her first aid kit. She didn't even think Deidara would consider it until he replied.

"There's nothing to know about me, un."

She stopped, looking up from beside him, half-opened band-aid in hand. Surprising new developments, indeed. "Tell me about you," she repeated, because there wasn't much else to say but there was always something about somebody and somehow, she wanted to _know_, "Tell me about your hands or something. Tell me about those birds of yours."

He did.

**xXx**

(It did well enough to distract him from the pain, at least – something that he could do while she began the task of patching him up. And if he didn't think about the pain, he also didn't need to think about the numbness that had taken over his left arm. He _had_ to remember what that poison had been.

Deidara closed his eyes and wondered where to begin. What could he tell her? About the dirt and rock shithole that Iwagakure was? About the accident that hadn't been an accident but a stroke of pure genius? About the bruise on his abdomen that was given to him by Itachi when they first met?

He wasn't even sure why he felt this generous.)

Around twenty-three years ago, a nameless woman gave birth in a nameless orphanage in the hellhole that was Iwagakure before running the hell away, leaving the useless ballast in a bed of bloodied sheets. Her body was found near the congested stream of pollution, or more politely, the river which cut through the city, and no one cared if it was an accident or otherwise.

A caretaker at the orphanage gave the child a first name and all the love she could afford to give when it was split between every other orphan in the wretched dump.

(Here Sakura paused and he wondered if it was pity or something as useless as that. She rubbed harder at his skin, still concentrating on the left arm – _this is what you wanted, isn't it?_ something murmured – and trying to get rid of the blood and grime.)

There was no need for a surname because the woman could not bear to be dishonest to the child and give him any hope that he belonged to any family, any clan.

("You're making this very upsetting," said the girl as she skimmed her antiseptic-covered fingers over his bare skin. He didn't even mind if it stung or not.)

The first friend he ever had was an injured bird that flew in one rainy day and perched at the head of the bed he shared with four other children. He tried to straighten out its wing – like he had seen older, more experienced people do – and then gave up when it wouldn't stay still. He fed it the mashed peas he didn't want for dinner and it stayed for two days before someone accidentally killed it when it collided with an airborne ball.

The first thing he ever did right was to make a clay statue in memory of the dead thing. Only, he wasn't quite old enough, not yet, but he tried and retried and eventually what he made turned out to be more accurate, more bird-looking than the last, though his memory of his first friend became vague and sketchy with time.

("I still think it was a sparrow, actually."

Maybe she was right and maybe she wasn't.

He didn't feel like wanting to agree with her on something.)

And Deidara grew up to be an artist. Clay was his speciality and once he tried to melt oil pastels just to see what would happen. Some things happened and he found that for once in his life, attention – what he never had in the orphanage – was suddenly not what he craved.

That was before the Akatsuki.

("And now?")

Now he was being saved by a girl who he had terrified and she was not complaining as she saved him and he was telling her an abridged story of his life. Only he didn't say that part out loud because Deidara remembered that he didn't believe in God, but in betrayal and self-preservation and caution.

**XXx**

His left arm (made up of scar tissue and fresh wounds and faded cuts—) was done by the time he was finished. It hadn't been that long, really, or maybe she was losing count of the time again. Sakura hadn't hesitated for a moment as she washed and applied antiseptic and bandaged and fixed, not looking at him for a second while she did so because there was something about Deidara's voice that sounded so distant and distracted

_Right arm. Then his chest and torso and he probably hasn't broken a rib, but there are __**bruises.**__One at a time. One at a time._

"Your turn, un. Who willingly sets themselves up in a shithole like this?"

"I need to concentrate," she repeated, slightly annoyed, reaching out to pull his right arm closer. More scars. More cuts. More stories etched into his skin, ones that he wouldn't tell her about. More work to be done. "And you probably already _know_ about that if you know this much about me."

Prying into her life like the two of them had a right to. Bastards.

"Tell me," he said without a hint of malice in his voice.

For some odd reason that she couldn't explain, she found herself actually wanting to – _stupid, stupid, stupid_. It had nothing to do with him. He didn't need to know about it.

… and yet, it felt like shedding a burden off her shoulders if someone else knew about. Like something she didn't need to keep to herself, something to let go so it would stop weighing her down.

_A real pity it doesn't apply to __**other**__ secrets._

It might even hurt less if she did.

Sakura swallowed. No crying this time, no crying in front of criminals like you could cry in front of Naruto and Sasuke and Ino and everyone. No crying, because crying never got anyone anywhere and she was going to get out of here for _sure_.

"I've been in Konohagakure all my life. I have my parents in some sense. I have my friends. I'm lacking any childhood tragedies. Well, some kids said I had a large forehead but that was that."

Don't cry. And treat the first cut on his right arm, like she had done already and don't think about it.

"I love _dango._ I wish that I never turned thirteen and grew up properly because of it. And my hair _is _natural, and if you ever find this sort of pink in supermarket hairdye, tell me because then I can sue."

She laughed suddenly. Her voice sounded funny, and there was something sticky and uncomfortable in her throat (but what?). She noticed for the first time how red her hands had become.

_Don't think about it._ It had become her mantra ever since she stopped questioning where the blood on his clothing came from.

And continued.

"My parents divorced around a year and a half ago. They got selfish and conceited and I realised I couldn't bear to live around either of them when they would treat me like… a princess and spoil me like hell just so I would choose between one of them."

Don't cry. Don't cry. Think of saving lives and you're capable because you've saved yours to some extent. Get back to work, Haruno.

She dabbed antiseptic onto a cut, less gently than she previously had.

"And then I found this place. I looked up laws and got my parents to sign forms. It… took a while."

It had been hard work. Begging and cajoling and the phrase 'this _is_ what's best for me' used and reused so many times. She had to ring up people and some of them didn't believe her because she had been so young but so persistent, so in the end, it worked.

"And I ended up here. The rent's the most annoying thing in the world. I think the landlord just feels sorry for me sometimes."

'Ended up' was a less dramatic term. 'Packed everything she owned and then ran the hell away to her new apartment' was more accurate. It had been lonely the first night, and then for the whole week, and then a month before she resigned herself to the fact it was the best she would get right then.

Which reminded her that her landlord might be dead. Most likely. One more problem to the list.

"And then— and then—"

Well, damn. She really had started to cry, or just the bare beginnings of it and she stopped to swipe the back of her hands over her eyes. "And then, here am I. And here you are. Isn't life funny?" she laughed, choking on a sob.

The arm she was supposed to be tending moved, and oddly enough, Deidara's right hand was on the side of the face, tilting her head up, something that should have been small and insignificant but it reminded her of the touch to the top of her head that day with Sasuke weeks ago and she mustn't have imagined after all, and she couldn't figure out why he was doing this, and his hands were clean (but still not, metaphorically, clean of blood) and even so, they were warmer than Itachi's.

_What on earth are you thinking?_

She was hit with a sense of deja vu: Itachi kneeling to look her in the eye, threatening her; and his partner, Deidara, sitting in her shower and trusting her to some extent – enough to let her come near him with various chemicals and a knife, at least.

"It gets better with time, un."

She wondered distantly why he was telling her this. He didn't need to comfort her or reassure her or anything of the sort.

_Whoever it's for, it's not you_ she had told him.

_And him?_ she thought, _who was he doing this for?_

For the moment, it didn't matter. She could be selfish for a moment. She could pretend that the hand on the side of her face had nothing to do with her current predicament, or Uchiha Itachi as a matter of fact – _damn it, you're not supposed to think about him_ – or that it might even be her parents consoling her. She could pretend it was Sasuke-kun's, or Ino's (like when they first met and the blonde saved a girl from a lifetime of loneliness), or _anyone_ but his.

Sakura really wanted to cry or scream or just _vent_ and just let all the stress out. Only he might take to that too kindly.

"And haven't you honestly cried enough for a lifetime?"

And here she was thinking he was sincere. She laughed instead, a _real_ laugh that she hadn't had in so long. "I swear to God, you almost remind me of—"

She didn't get to finish her sentence and most likely it was best she hadn't, she thought, because she was utterly _mad_ to be laughing while he was partially harmless and _shirtless_ in her shower for god's sake – so it was for the best when Itachi crashed in through her bathroom door.

**xXx**

There was a poison invented or perfected or something-of-the-sort by Yakushi Kabuto to render a person into what was called a 'living death'. It was simple and straightforward but so hard to counteract that Deidara barely believed that he actually remembered what was wrong with him. Somewhere between listening with difficulty to her oversimplified explanation of how she had came to be here, he realised that he couldn't feel his right leg.

And if he really was going to become a paralysed wreck whilst sitting on cold tiles, maybe it would be better to get into her good graces before something worse happened.

Yakushi Kabuto had not named it – naming things had a tendency of attracting attention, because once a pronounceable word was said, it was easier to spread – but Sasori-danna and Zetsu had. Maybe because it had taken both the poison-specialist and one heck-of-a-weird but prestigious botanologist a full two months to find an antidote of sorts, or maybe Lot four-thousand-and-something was too suspicious, or maybe one of them really had weird fetishes, but the thing was called the Wax Flower.

The poison acted within the bloodstream – that _goddamned _cut was more trouble than he would have thought – and was fuelled by adrenaline. Running faster sped it up (another reason to send so many scouts, to make him run like a madman) and once it took hold, it _hurt_ like hell in one main limb before it went numb. While it did so, the poison tensed and stiffened the muscles until it refused to flex or even _move_ – a state of paralysis that was close enough to the real thing. And then it repeated for all four limbs, and spread out into the torso, then higher, and whoever had a dose of it almost definitely would be as confused and desperate as hell until they were in a state of a 'living death'.

Deidara wouldn't have believed it until he actually felt it for himself. (_And what the fuck was he going to do; he hadn't brought an antidote with him—_)

In a scientific sense, it was ingenious. The mind was active (and actively panicking) while the body was in a state similar to rigor mortis. And Kabuto, part-doctor, part-scientist and a hundred per cent mad, having perfected or made it realised this, because one of their spies had brought back security footage of him cutting apart a living person.

They learnt that there was one minor flaw to the poison – it wasn't as effective in paralysing the muscles of the face, so the man's mouth moved and his eyes widened even as the rest of him lay motionless.

(All he remembered about that day was one more hard lesson learnt: do not get hit with it, do not forget that it exists, and do not throw up where Leader-sama could see.)

The Wax Flower undid all the effects, only its aftereffects were much worse and it spanned three days. In an adverse reaction, it loosened all the muscles and for an hour, one could manage properly, if shakily. And then for the other seventy-one hours, they would loose all bodily functions until the antidote was flushed out of the system.

He finally remembered what the poison was when she began with the good things with her life, and somehow, he clicked together life with death with the poison slowly locking the muscles in his leg. His first thought: _get the hell out of here. Hotwire something and __**go.**__ You might even make it._

But nothing had stopped him when she finally ended with a bitter laugh, almost crying again and because Deidara had never really cared about Haruno Sakura in any sense, he figured that this was the one time he could let himself forget his reputation and twisted morals and common sense, and touched his only working hand to her face.

_It gets better with time._

Because some cracked-out drunk had said _time heals all wounds_ and because he had his own experience and because he was old enough to have learnt and realise it was _right_ to some extent and she— she was really just a kid and not cut out for medical tasks at all and for one moment when he thought the poison really was fucking with his head, Deidara almost could have felt sorry for her.

Before Itachi crashed their sob-story party of two with more flair and drama than necessary.

Thought Deidara as he pulled his hand away from the girl and stared in vague surprise at his partner because he usually never took this long: _at least some things were getting back to normal today._

**xXx**

_From the beginning, I knew, _

_That no matter how I chased it,_

_I wouldn't be able to reach—_

**xXx**

**

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- 

Just in time for the Christmas spirit. Fallacy BETA-ed this, which was awesome and very nice of her, yes?

The best important thing: everything medical, aside from the poisons, in this chapter was looked up on online first aid instructions. _Don't rely on this. At all._ (The poisons were just fictional – Kabuto's especially.)

It wasn't actually Itachi. No fear, folks; it was worse

My apologies for getting rid of the coolness that is Deidara's hand-mouths, but I realised that I couldn't pass them off as a mutation of sorts (or else he'd be a lab rat instead of a criminal.)

I lied about the explanations to some extent, but the plot moved. A fraction. In all truth, I had to cut it short because I was afraid many people wouldn't be bothered with reading such a long chapter. And guess what? _Tell me what you like. _I'll take it into consideration.

Review?

(If you're a lurker, I can understand. Even just a review consisting of which pair you like best will do.)


	5. Boundaries

_Because some cracked-out drunk had said _time heals all wounds_ and because he had his own experience and because he was old enough to have learnt and realize it was right to some extent and she— she was really just a kid and not cut out for medical tasks at all and for one moment when he thought the poison really was fucking with his head, Deidara almost could have felt sorry for her._

_Before Itachi crashed their sob-story party of two with more flair and drama than necessary._

_Thought Deidara as he pulled his hand away from the girl and stared in vague surprise at his partner because he usually never took this long:_ at least some things were getting back to normal today.

**

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**CHAPTER FOUR**

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**BOUNDARIES**

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**xXx**

_If I could hate you,_

_I would find myself drowned in this shallow sea—_

**xXx**

When it came down to it, Sakura believed that there should have been little to surprise her on the rainy Saturday when Deidara crashed bleeding and wet into her apartment.

And then Itachi, armed with an automatic in hand, broke through her bathroom door which she hadn't even locked – had been too preoccupied with hauling a certain unconscious blond in, actually, to do so – and Sakura wondered whether the whole thing was from bad karma, or if she had really been asking for it when thinking about 'unexpected company', and _odd, did those hinges always look like that_…?

(_He broke your door down_, another voice added indignantly, _hell, __**our**__ door. The hinges __**never **__looked liked that. Ever._)

She had the vague recognition of Deidara's hand drawing away from her face when she could no longer feel the raised scars on his palm on her skin, and since he was openly staring at the newcomer, she did too. Itachi looked as he always did – perfectly composed and aware of his surroundings, despite that sudden entrance, and in a much better state than Deidara (but who wouldn't be at this moment?).

He was also holding a loaded gun aimed to her head. There was a slight, _slight_ jolt of giddiness when she noticed the fresh scar and dried blood on his cheek.

_Nothing to surprise you? _

Someone actually managing to psychically harm someone like Uchiha Itachi made her happy enough.

The object of her thoughts broke the silence and very carefully lowered his arm, too calm to be _normal_. "How pleasant to see you here, Sakura-san."

How dare he talk to herlike_— like a casual acquaintance_ when he had just _broken down her_ damn door. And worse – Sakura faltered – worse was that he almost looked curious of the situation before him.

_And of all things—_

She found that she couldn't reply. Instead, she wiped off the last remnants of her tears with the back of her hand and forced the fear in her stomach down so that she could stand properly. Had to because—

—_one did not simply sit while her guest stood—_

—if she didn't, it would be giving him the wrong impression and she _wasn't_ weak because she had already proved herself vaguely competent in doing _something_, so even if her legs gone numb and tired from crouching down whilst tending to Deidara (and that was the _only_ reason it was shaky), it didn't matter as she pulled herself up.

His expression didn't waver.

"I—" her throat felt dry, "—how nice for you to drop by." _Something nice_, she thought, _something nice and polite and civil so you don't get shot for anything. _Something like pleasantries and polite laughter and words best suited for Saturday tea parties, but Uchiha Itachi? The most unwanted company from here to kingdom come, and if he ever came over for tea (properly and formally and _invited_), it would be served bitter and dark (to suit him and his morbid, sadistic, murderous tastes) and laced heavily with cyanide.

She swallowed; felt something turn in her stomach – she'd drink down cyanide-laced tea if it meant getting away from him, because— because— it wasn't even because he had held a gun to her twice (_are you keeping count?_), it was more like—

_Did you forget he was Akatsuki?_

That both of them were Akatsuki?

No. Of course she hadn't forgotten. (But there was a twist in her stomach: _and Deidara had been a good distraction for— for how long?_)

And before she could think of a way to talk her way out of this, Itachi's gaze wandered, downwards, past her neck and down further, oddly discreet and barely noticeable, less than blatant _staring_, but Sakura had the sudden urge to smack him over the head because if he was like Naruto and ogling her when they were fourteen, then _he was so dead_—

—only things like that most likely held little or no interest to him, so she looked down too, wondering if she had spilled something onto her shirt, or—

_Oh._ She _had _spilled something onto… herself…

She could've had sworn that it had been green that morning, mainly because she liked this shirt and it actually matched the color of her eyes, so how did it get so _red_—

—and dazedly, she raised her hands to check – and yes, they had been reddish-pink from Deidara's blood but that was also because it was diluted with water, but her shirt surely hadn't, so—

She was only slightly aware that she felt too tired to stand properly (but from what?) and that there was something rising up in her throat and that someone had said something ("Sakura-san—") before the world spun to black.

**xXx**

When it came down to it, 'unorthodox' was possibly the best word for it – because if Deidara did have to think about it, _fucking unbelievable_ was more Hidan's choice of phrase, so 'unorthodox' was the tamest way to describe how his partner (_his partner, _his _insane, genocidal _partner who had beaten him into a sick sort of submission to force him into Akatsuki) had moved quicker than he would have in his condition, was moving even whilst he watched her eyes flutter and her small frame sway, and Itachi caught Sakura before she fell to the ground. He had one arm wrapped around her, and her unconscious form was draped against his, and Deidara thought: _oh fuck. _

Oto must have gotten to him before he could make it. _Must have._ And then sent someone else because they'd gotten the rendezvous point out of him and now he really was fucking dead because—

"You are in able condition, Deidara?"

—or not. Only Uchiha Itachi was capable of phrasing questions like statements that were best not answered.

(_Here,_ Sasori-danna had explained the first time, _he may either choose to kill you, or depending on your reply to his questions—_)

He was still formulating the best possible answer – something that would involve less about being poisoned and more about minor mishaps – when Itachi settled the human cargo in his arms against the opposite wall; and then he realized that the poison was really playing around with his head, right then and there, because he mustn't have been thinking straight when he wondered what would become of her.

(_Definitely _not cut out for medical jobs if she fainted at a little blood, he added in afterthought.)

"Just an accident, un." He tried not to look at Itachi as the other stood, waiting for an explanation. It was easier to look at her instead – unconscious and slumped against that wall and her pink hair strewn over her face— and no, _no,_ he had no pity for Haruno Sakura because what was there to do for pseudo-orphaned teenagers who came to him with a first aid kit and too much pity to have common sense?

(_Let them be_, a traitorous voice laughed, _or let them and let them do what they want, and isn't that what you wanted too—?_)

There was a pause before his partner replied. "I see," then another pause, analyzing, considering the validity of the statement, "… and you were unable to deal with these injuries yourself from your accident?" _Because I see a girl covered with blood – your blood, it seems – and bandages that were most likely not applied by your own hands._

From all his experience of dealing with him, Itachi did not go use underhanded insults, only because he never said more than what was necessary, and the way he phrased it, the way he _said_ it without even sounding insulting was— was—

Aggravated, he snarled back with, "And you're fucking late, you know."

In reply, Itachi dug around for his shades, looking unexpectedly fatigued as he did so. "There were delays. Complications. I expect you to understand." _Seeing as you either in or one of them_ was something that he did not add, although Deidara understood clearly. "Leader will not be pleased… but nevertheless," he found them, fishing them out of his breast pocket, "the matter is unavoidable. You are poisoned?"

He did not want to know how the Uchiha knew – it was best not to in most cases. Instead, he repeated: "An accident."

"Aah." A brief pause to resettle the shades over his eyes. "I presume you did not carry the antidote with you?"

Because sitting utterly drenched and shirtless and partially bandaged in a shower was not an obvious enough answer for him. He wondered if the other was becoming blind.

"Did you, un? Hand it over."

Instead, Itachi scrutinized him with a careful look, contemplating. "You are poisoned," he repeated, "But from what, Deidara? I imagine that it would not be lethal, else you would be less… compliant with waiting."

If it was lethal, he wouldn't doubt that Itachi would have known. And this? It was close enough to lethal without possibly _permanently paralyzing_ him. Itachi could possible _hurry the fuck up _if he didn't want a permanently paralyzed partner on his hands.

"You have neglected to tell me something."

Maybe, Deidara thought with disdain, if he put _his_ current condition into his goddamned _fucking calculations_, handing him an antidote instead of a one-sided interrogation would be more useful to their current predicament. (More his than Itachi's really; but Leader-sama was most likely wanting an explanation and recount of why the dealings had turned out wrong and he didn't get answers out of permanently paralyzed men, did he?)

"_Things got bad, _yeah? Unless you didn't have that on your part, and because they're Kabuto's lot, they probably had that paralysis thing with them. Draw your own conclusions, un."

The only response was one he actually wanted – point blank, non-vocal, but left him with a plastic-wrapped syringe slapped in his palm. As he tugged the packaging off, he noted Itachi's _'be ready to leave in five minutes'_ without replying, and then turned around, wondering why he wasn't gone as soon as possible, when—

_Fuck. Oto has him. Oto has him and they've sent someone very capable and this antidote is actually a poison made to accelerate the paralysis one, because if—_

If 'unorthodox' constituted well for Uchiha Itachi saving pink-haired teenagers from a painful fall by catching them in odd, one-sided embraces, he had to stick _fucking unbelievable_ to the same man retrieving the same unconscious girl from the wall and exiting without another word.

Deidara looked at the half-opened syringe and then at the figure sidling out of the partially ruined bathroom door (_oh, she'll give you hell for that one_) and back to his hand. If— no, _when_ he would be incarcerated for the next seventy-one hours, he would be getting drunk. For certain. Anything to make some rationalization for what he had seen.

(So much for _at least some things were getting back to normal today._)

**xXx**

When it came down to it, Itachi wondered what had transpired between Deidara and Haruno Sakura, if the scene had indeed looked as if it had meant to – the blood on her clothes, on her hands, and there had even been a smudge of pink of her cheek that she most likely could not have noticed; his partner in the shower with bandages that he could not have applied himself; the wet basin that held only a pool of red water and an open medical kit with antiseptics and the like pulled out.

He paused to maneuver his way into her room, careful not to awaken the sleeping bundle in his arms. Haruno Sakura would need her rest if she needed to recover from the shock; and he would need a fully awake person to interrogate once he delivered his partner back safely – which would be tonight, as there would be little time for it otherwise. The corpse, he considered as he lowered the girl to her bed, at the apartment's entrance and the subsequent investigation related to it would be a hassle to get through also.

And then there was another hassle – Deidara's current state. An hour returning back was not a problem if he— if _they_ rushed (because in Akatsuki, partnership meant having someone to look out for his back, not cannon fodder as it usually might); avoiding detection from Oto and the Police Force was more integral at the moment.

Itachi glanced around the room, then back down at the unconscious girl. Or not as unconscious as he would have liked, it seemed, because her eyelids twitched suddenly and before he could react, they fluttered open and she stared blearily at him (_right through him_.) For a moment, he found that look almost unsettling.

"… Sasuke-kun?"

He stared evenly back. "Go back to sleep."

His voice must have been more similar to his brother's than he realized, because she smiled up at him, murmuring something about strange dreams and closed her eyes again.

And it was force of habit, he told himself as he leant down to wrap the faded comforter around her, something he had done countless times for Sasuke when he was a child, up until _that_ incident, and why should he not associate his brother with her? She was as much a fool as he was; more so, if she had, in all honestly, tried to help Deidara with the best of intentions at heart. It was amusing thought, and Sakura stirred in her sleep suddenly, arms lashing out, tossing violently.

It was, he thought, such a pity that blood had dealt such trauma to her. It wasn't as if she would see less of it in the future.

(Like Sasuke, so much like his weak, never-changing brother.)

Itachi bent down, and because Deidara was too occupied to walk in on them, because there was a sly wicked voice adding that he _could, _that he had every right to and how was she to know of this, curled his palm against the side of her face, thumb brushing against the pale smudge of blood on her cheek. There was nothing intimate in it, but almost in response, Haruno Sakura murmured restlessly in her peaceless sleep.

"Once my brother realizes, it will be too late," he remarked softly, eyes glinting, "And I believe you know this best of all, Sakura-san."

_In time, Sakura. In time._

**xXx**

—_but I'm sure I'd breathe from within my trance._

**xXx**

Sakura woke with a headache.

_Oh hell._

What had happened? She had been _certain_ that she already woke up to the sound of the rain this morning (was it even Saturday?), and her shirt felt damp and it definitely _was not_ her usual sleepwear, and…

Her head hurt. Badly. _Very_ badly. And she had to stop thinking right now because it hurt too much to think.

She groaned. What _had_ happened? A quick glance around her room told it was not completely dark – or maybe it was the damn loud rain outside that was doing that – and the rain—

Odd. She could have _sworn_ that she had already done this already – woke up bleary and tired to the sound of rain, déjà vu and all. She heaved herself upright, groped for the edge of the windowsill, and then the searing pain of her headache came back threefold.

_What in the name of—_

Sakura clutched at her head, flopping back down again. Right. _Right._ Obviously something must have happened, something that she couldn't quite remember because the _goddamned headache was getting in the way._ She regarded her blank ceiling, wondering what the 'something' was. The rain might have led to slick floors, which could have lead to slipping, which could have lead to a concussion—

"Right," she said, then regretted it immediately, because her mouth was dry and her throat was dry and every part of her was stiff and aching.

_No. And if that did happen, how did I wind up in bed again?_

Her eyes drifted from the ceiling to the walls to the curtains, where behind them, a brilliant storm was brewing, and how irritating, because the last thing she wanted today was rain—

_Wait._

There was a clay thing peeking out of her curtains. It reminded her of the day she had came from her school to find a load of clay models in her house and—

Clay.

_Clay._

Him— that one— _Deidara._

It came back to her in a blur, non-chronological but familiar, beginning with blood and ending with—

—more blood. And Uchiha Itachi. Breaking down her bathroom door. _Oh, that bastard_, and— and—

—and she had fainted. That must have been it: the blurriness, the sudden darkness, and the reason why she currently felt utterly wasted. And it was just because of blood on her shirt.

_Just blood?_

She tugged off the blanket, looking down at her shirt and realized belatedly that it wasn't as bad facing it the second time around. Less shocking for sure. More… gory, in that she had to wash it out and because green and red in this sense, complimentary colors or not, looked horrible together.

And then she looked back at the curtains, where the beak of the clay pigeon was poking out (_not sparrow,_ _Deidara said, not a sparrow but his first friend that he couldn't remember too well_); and she even felt strangely compelled to reach up and take it.

Sakura massaged her temples slowly. Fainting – what had she learnt on fainting? Either nothing much or her memory was not co-operating with her headache, because the only thing she could remember was something about a lack of blood to the head, which explained the unconsciousness, but what to do after? Unconscious spells only lasted for a few minutes, which meant… her unexpected guests (_stop using those words_) had left rather recently too, if she hadn't woken up at the time they did so.

She curled back into her blanket. Those were things she'd rather not think about – not when she was headache-ridden, not while she was still questioning her morals, because those damned things had _led_ to her to this, and she was _tired_.

_So. Sleep. Not thinking about it, not for the rest of the day._

As luck would have it, it was only when she started to yawn that she remembered the clay figure on her windowsill.

_Who gives? It's probably just his whacked idea of a 'thank you' note._

Yes. Very likely.

… _but the words 'Deidara' and 'thank you' should never be used in the same sentence. Ever._

No, she was not going to reach up and take the bird in her hand. Sleep was important. And _necessary_. And 'thank you' notes, no matter how grateful and flowery and nice-looking could never compare to something like _sleep_, and—

Sakura swore under her breath, struggled to sit up and snatched the damned thing off the windowsill. Her fingertips brushed by the paper that the bird weighed down (_ha! It __**is**__ a thank you letter!_) and she took that with her too, before collapsing back onto her bed.

After setting the thing down on her blanket – another bird, and why was she not surprised? – she held the note up, squinted and tried to read in the semi-darkness. It was short and neat and was nothing near grateful, or flowery, or nice-looking, but it was a note all the same, and surprisingly, it was in Itachi's handwriting – perhaps his partner had been incapable of writing it, being paralyzed and all (which led to a more important question: how _did_ they leave?) – and actually contained more than two words.

The first message was not _thank you._ The words never made it on the page, but Sakura found herself thinking _you're welcome_ all the same, swallowing hard to contain the sudden burst of part-excitement, part-shock in her stomach, and carefully reached over to stroke the head of the bird. Instead, it was simply: _it probably was a sparrow._

The second was shorter: _it's harmless._

She looked at the clay bird. "I suppose that means you, then," she said conversationally, setting the paper down, "Although I'm not sure… well, if I can trust him when he says that."

And therein lied the problem.

The traitorous inner voice added that she couldn't.

Not murderers. Not criminals. Not men like him with questionable intents and insane smiles and bloodstained hands. And if he was less like that and more like the stranger that she met at the foot of a statue, she _could_ trust him. Could trust him, could forgive him, could do a million things that were impossible because he— he simply _wasn't_ that innocent or that guiltless at all.

_So, _she thought, _so. What to do now?_

The question would have been simple, only she felt so tired, so world-weary that she barely thought about it properly. (And the problem with questions like that was that variables or possibilities or people not being simple calculating machines were never really taken into account.)

Outside, the sound of the rain grew louder.

She already knew the answer to that question, but— (the answer? Forget about it; forget about it and get on with life and forget that you saved a man for at least a while when he turned up bleeding on your doorstep.)

And Sakura in her lonely, empty apartment closed her eyes and absently cradling the harmless gift in her palm, spoke to no one in particular, "I'm not too sure myself, actually."

There was no answer. But she hadn't expected one either way.

(The problem with questions like that was because she was thinking of a boy without a home or a friend, instead a man who held a gun to another's head and fired without hesitation.)

**xXx**

There were already enough nuisances from today; from Oto, there had been a failed deal, then an ambush; and from Deidara…

"_Exactly what did she tell you?"_

"_Haven't I— _nothing._ Nothing new, not really, un. Grand old sob story about her getting here. That's it."_

"_And for what purpose, Deidara?"_

"_What the fuck are you getting at? We were just—"_

"_Just?"_

"… _just talking."_

—there was not much he could not expect from Deidara. But something as careless as what he did? Unacceptable. The less Leader knew of it, the better, and even so, he had to know whether the unexpected slip of tongue was costly.

"_What did you tell her?"_

"_Where the hell do you get off on interrogating people? Nothing fucking happened, un."_

"_I find it difficult to believe."_

"_Nothing happened. Believe _that_."_

It might as well have been anything, but putting Deidara's poisoned and possibly disorientated state into the equation only made it worse. It could have been anything about Akatsuki, about him, about them, anything that she could exploit if she wanted to, even if that exploiting was as simple as telling someone what she knew_._

Itachi had no doubt that she would be very capable of doing such things if she so wished.

"_I would have expected such carelessness from Tobi, perhaps. Not you."_

"_It's not a big deal, un. Honest to god. Fucking hell, _Itachi_—"_

"_The fact remains that you said something possibly harmful to the organization."_

"_It's not— listen for god's sake—"_

"_I will ask Sasori to sedate you if need be, Deidara."_

"_Uchiha, you sonovabitch, she doesn't know fucking anything about—"_

The abundance of officers at the apartment's entrance was little more than a minor nuisance to Itachi as he approached, although his hand had almost twitched and reached for a switchblade when someone tried to take a closer look at him.

(It was too much of a risk, really; and there was no mistaking the former prodigy of the Uchiha family that had once ruled over the Police Force.)

A few minutes, feigned ignorance, false identification and an insistence to visit one of the residents under Youth Protection let him through easily enough.

Standing before Haruno Sakura's apartment door, Itachi rethought his motive – in truth, he had considered a subtle interrogation, about whatever had transpired between her and Deidara; or at least, that had been up until an hour ago.

Now—

_("No mistakes, Itachi. An Uchiha son must never make a mistake—")_

—perhaps _now _was the time to finish what should have already ended weeks ago, right in this apartment where he had stood before and had been let in with the cunning that suited tricksters and weasels—

_("Itachi? How odd. I don't suppose you killed your family for naming you that, did you?")_

He felt for the automatic tucked into his jacket, and decided: now, it had to be _now_ – before it became too dangerous. Before _she_ became too dangerous with knowledge that should have never slipped from Deidara's tongue.

She answered rather quickly – only moments after he knocked, the door was flung open in a hurry. For a second, he thought that she looked quite like a mess, part-tired, part-confused – the sort of carelessness that suited Haruno Sakura; then remembered that he had to kill her if need be.

"Oh."

She swallowed, gripping the side of the front door.

"It's… you again."

She licked her lips absently.

He said nothing. (And wondered what to do with that tongue – rip it out, make her keep her silence, or—)

There was a moment of silence, where Haruno Sakura gathered up her wits again and possibly her common sense, then: "… why don't you come in, Itachi-san?"

Manners over common sense then, he thought; and it was almost too easy, sadly, as Sakura stepped back wordlessly to let him in. Which truly was a pity, because he had believed that she was capable of many things and that naivety had not really been one of them.

**xXx**

Now that he was forced to think of the incident in the shower, Deidara found that he wanted to tell Haruno Sakura many things instead of just odd scraps from his mangled childhood; wanted to take her pretty pink head in his hands and make sure she was watching, was listening, had all her focus on him no matter how much she tossed and turned and screamed at him to _stop._

That he had killed his first man when he was fourteen and only could have gotten away with that because he was in Iwagakure. (Pushed him down the stairs, that one, pushed him down the stairs and looked at the crumpled body and reminded himself that he still needed to gather up his shirt from where the bastard had left it after he tore it off; and then he poured any flammable liquid that could be found under the sinks over him and lit him up like a bonfire. And only then, _only then_ had he allowed himself to lose some semblance of control.)

That he had gotten the attention of the Akatsuki because he had been stupid and careless, and before he had been a criminal wanted in over four countries? Terrorist. A terrorist with store-bought materials and too many ideas for his own good; who ranked top of the class in electronics and chemistry, then blew up a public building to make sure he was _significant_, that he could be _remembered_ in the hellhole that was Iwa.

That the public building he leveled to the ground had been the orphanage he spent the whole of his life in. Save for the Akatsuki, no other organization knew of his background – burning down the orphanage helped obscure it. (At least he cleared it out before doing so; the endless fire drills that were practiced there actually turned out useful.)

That the injured man she saw in the shower _wasn't him._ The man who divulged scraps of his past to her wasn't Iwa no Deidara. And she had to realize that, she _had _to because once someone else knew of it, she was doomed and—

And he wanted her to hate him. Wanted to tell her all the things that would _make_ her hate him so that she wouldn't give him her pity or her care or her sympathy, because sentiments like that were wasted on men like him, and if she hated him, things would be normal again – or at least, if the day's events had never happened at all.

Anything, if it made her less involved with them. With what they _did._ With him and whatever he said to make her unintentionally catch the attention of Uchiha Itachi. And Deidara, useless and sprawled out on his bed, skin slicked with sweat and gritting his teeth to hold back any sound of pain, cursed his slip of tongue and cursed Itachi to hell and back again if he did anything to her that was more than necessary.

(_I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry and I apologize for fucking up your life more than you ever deserve, Haruno._

Before his world slipped to black, he thought about the blood that had been splattered over her, and how she had looked so wild and haunted and fleeting when she stood to face Itachi – as if that temperament would only last so long before it up and left with her kindness, before she ended up hating him again; and hoped for a moment that it wouldn't have been the last he had seen of her.)

**xXx**

To Sakura, it was one thing for him to break his way into her house, break down her bathroom door and then whisk off without a trace that he had even been there (except for the broken door that she gave up trying to fix) and it was something entirely different for Uchiha Itachi to be sitting down at her dining table with all the air of an invited guest.

_Keyword here, darling: __**invited**__. Did you invite him? No. No, you didn't. But you asked him in, didn't you, stupid?_

She emptied the very last leaves of green tea from its package into her earthenware teapot, reminded herself to buy more and flicked on the kettle. And very cautiously, she snuck another quick glance out of the kitchen and at the (very, _very _uninvited) houseguest waiting patiently for his tea.

Sakura wished she kept cyanide around.

And _oolong._ Sasuke-kun liked it better than green, found the flavor more… _enriching, _he'd said (or maybe he secretly was a caffeine freak, what with the shadows under his eyes and his nocturnal tendencies) and suppose his brother shared the same tastes.

She rolled her eyes. What did she care for about Itachi, or his tea preferences? She could lace his cup with cyanide, could tip arsenic into his tea before she served it – those interesting little things she'd learnt from riddles and some of Sasuke's amazingly fabricated stories (_a party goes a restaurant, and a man dies, and when the police start investigating, they find that the food is not poisoned, but then, how did this man die?)_

Tea. Bitter dark tea. Laced with poison that she did not have, Sakura reminded herself, then inhaled – _tea, think on the tea_ – and exhaled slowly. She was rather certain that having a nervous breakdown whilst making appropriate, hospitable beverages would rouse Uchiha Itachi's suspicions.

But the kettle boiled _very_ slowly, she decided, so that was reason enough to get back to making sure that a certain someone was not breaking down her tables as he had her doors—

—and he wasn't doing anything of the sort, because he _wasn't even there anymore._

She was panicking before she realized it, and moving too – three steps to the doorway, hand gripping the door frame hard and swinging out to—

(They smoothed the insides of his bowl and utensils with cyanide, Sasuke had said, deadpan and bored in the midst of sharing ghost stories, and left to organisation and co-ordination, if anyone was going to die, it would be him.)

—come face-to-face with Uchiha Itachi who was leaning, composed as ever, by the side of the kitchen entrance.

(No one really knew if Sasuke made up those stories or not, but Naruto always said that he did, and Sakura always tried to make him lighten up afterwards, and after, when Sasuke wasn't around, Shikamaru told them that he'd heard things like that, from files that went missing from the Police Force, files from the long-gone Uchiha era.)

"Is there something wrong, Sakura-san?"

She gaped – _no, say something, goddamnit_ – and took a step back before stammering out, "No. Oh, no, no, not at all." She swallowed; felt her heart pound wildly in panic. "Didn't want to keep you waiting, that's all."

His head tilted in faux-curiosity as he regarded her, the same way he had looked at her only hours ago with the stare that said _don't lie to me, girl, because I can cut you down with a glance, I can pull you apart if I wanted to_ – and she felt ready to run away all over again.

"I see."

Sakura attempted a nervous smile. It wasn't returned.

"But I can't seem to understand why you persist on continually looking over me when you're in your kitchen."

He replaced the distance between them by stepping forward; and _that_, she decided as she stumbled backwards, _is getting too close_. Too close for him to be eyeing her like that, with the careful wariness and distrust he always kept around himself; too close to her, which was something Deidara had already done and she couldn't let herself be fooled again.

(And some part of her made her meet his eyes, made her stand still and stop running away, because she was so, _so_ sick of running away.)

"It— it's nothing."

"Nothing, Sakura-san?"

She fixed her eyes on him – _don't look away _– and kept her voice as amiable as possible. "Nothing at all." Then in a gentler tone that she reserved for speaking to little children: "It'll only take a little longer, Itachi-san. Why don't you wait a moment?"

For a second, she thought that there was an incomprehensible flicker of _something_ on his face, or maybe it had been a trick of the light or her dizzy, wild mind, because if there had been there, it was gone in an instant.

Sakura let out a breath she barely realized she was holding when he nodded, answered back with a curt: "I meant no disrespect, Sakura-san," and stepped back.

_Disaster avoided_, she thought, and while some part of her cheered (_take that, Uchiha!_), she felt more than slightly shaken. Sakura watched his retreat, and only when she slipped back to the kitchen, did she shudder and collapse against the nearest bench.

Hand pressed over her heart, she counted – _one, two, three, four, oh God_ – until she could feel it calm, and wondered how it was still there.

The kettle whistled, and she stared at it for a second, then remembered the tea. It was funny thinking about it – serving poison to Uchiha Itachi – when only a moment ago, her paranoia was taking over the best of her.

_So. Now for tea. _

She fixed it up almost automatically, spent a minute readying herself to face her so-called guest again (and if he was upset by it, surely it was irrational to kill someone for making bad tea), and hoisted two cups (not smoothed with poison, sadly) and the earthenware teapot in both hands.

Itachi was already waiting for her by the table, and without a word, stood, took the burden from her and set it down.

"I'd be a bad host if I let you do that," Sakura said, for lack of anything else to say.

"I was afraid you would scald your hands," he returned evenly.

_And this_, she decided as she nodded in politeness and poured him a cup, _would be a tea party from hell._ Mainly because that was the only place he deserved to be, and also because that was what he was turning her life into.

(Thought Sakura as she poured her own cup: her hands were not shaking. Not from fear, not from anything.)

Very quietly, he thanked her and sat down – a welcome relief, because he had absolutely no right to be towering over her (stupid height difference and everything), not when she was attempting to be a proper host so much it'd kill her. And then, when she felt Itachi look away from her, more focused on his tea than on her possibly deciding to lunge out and attack him, she did the same.

She wondered how right she was (tea party from hell indeed), because for the next minute, he did nothing but sit and drink, disturbingly… _polite_; then wondered if he was ever raised properly, murderer or not, because it wasn't nice to ignore tea-serving hosts like the way he was ignoring her.

_And if it's like this the next time, _she added in afterthought, _it'd be impossibly easy to poison him. _If there was no cyanide, she still had various cleaning detergents and who knew what happened when those were ingested.

Even better was no 'next time' at all.

She tried not to keep her hopes up, because Itachi decided to set his cup down at that precise moment.

"I hope you have realized why I am here, Sakura-san."

That was exactly what she was avoiding.

"Not to partake in sharing tea with me?" The sarcasm slid into her voice before she could rethink her words, _and oops, too late now._ Her fingers, curled around her cup, shook slightly. "Because—" she faltered, thinking of some excuse to save herself,_ at least try,_ "because last I checked, you broke my door down. You owe me for that."

He stood then, looming over her like some sick shadow of death, like a predator (_a weasel_) ready to pounce.

"What did Deidara tell you?"

She bit down on her tongue. If Deidara had told her something important, he must have hidden it in the layers of his childhood story – and he hadn't, because all she gotten was a misshapen history-tragedy of someone with no surname and only one friend. It didn't tell her anything about him in the present, it wasn't leverage she had.

She doubted Itachi would believe it; and another voice twittered: _it's going to suck so much if you die for something like this—_

Sakura refused to finish the thought and rose to her feet, pushing her chair behind her. Height difference aside, it made little difference; there was nothing to change the way he looked at her or how her fingers and palms were slicked with cold sweat or the twittering voice that now said: _he's going to kill you, he's going to kill you, he's going to kill—_

She gripped the edge of the table for support and weighed words and reason inside her head (_because that's all you have left now._)

"He told me about Iwagakure. The orphanage there – it was a hellhole, or the whole place was a hellhole, and then he left that all behind and ended up here."

(_And now?_ She had asked him that, right at the very end, and he hadn't answered.

And now, look at what was happening to her because she wanted to _help._)

Itachi's eyes narrowed. "You are lying."

"I'm not. That's all he said."

Up until then, she never thought it possible for him to show anything except cool indifference, because his face was probably made of glass, stoic freak as he was, and if any muscle moved too much, it'd crack. Now, with sirens going off in her head – _back away, back away __**right now**_ – she had to reconsider.

"You are not making this better for yourself, Sakura."

And Sakura, who felt her stomach twist and turn like something awful, curled her fingers into the table, and stood her ground.

"I'm not lying," she said, and tried to ignore the suffix that had been dropped from her name. Tried to wonder what something like that meant, with a man like Uchiha Itachi.

There was the space of a grand total of three steps between him and her, and when he advanced on her, she didn't move. Didn't move when he was two steps away, then one, and the cool icy calmness never shifted from his face even though something primeval and instinctual told her that something _was _wrong.

One step. And Uchiha Itachi stood before her, a good head's height taller, and she had to look up to meet his gaze.

_I'm not scared. Actually, no, he's still scary as hell. _At least some part of her still bothered to be honest. Sakura folded her arms and forced a wry smile up at him.

"I'm flattered, really, Uchiha-san, but I haven't changed my answer in five seconds." Her voice hadn't shaken or trembled, and through the fear that ran cold inside her, Sakura felt herself straighten. (_Braver. Stand your ground, Haruno._)

He circled her, slowly (_predatorily_), never one step away from her, until she had to turn to keep her eyes on him. _Don't look away. Don't look away for one second or he's going to do something._ And he knew that, he must have known, even if his expression hadn't shifted in the slightest, because with her back to the table and her clenching it like a lifeline, she must have looked nothing less than trapped.

(_And who's to say you're not?_)

"Really," he said quietly, with a look that almost bordered amusement.

"Yeah." Sakura bit her lip.

And then he _moved_, fast, impossibly _fast_, was pulling the chair in front of her away and throwing it to the side almost effortlessly, and before she heard it crash (_he's breaking everything we own_) her vision was filled with black and red and _Itachi._ And in blind panic, Sakura shoved herself back to get the _fuck away from him_, but that was the worst thing to do because her spine was pressed uncomfortably back against the edge of the table, and she only had her arms to hold herself up, and then Uchiha Itachi came down on her.

He wasn't even touching her. He didn't even need to, because his arms were braced on either side of her (she heard her tea set rattle when his hands slammed against the table) and all he had to do was lean forward and she'd lean back, equal and opposite reactions.

(And he's going to break this girl too.)

"Surely," he said softly, "it cannot be so difficult to look at me, Sakura-san." He didn't need to direct her face to his, didn't even need to move because she flicked her eyes up to him almost instantly. "Better. Now – what did Deidara tell you?"

Her tongue was stuck in her mouth, and her heart was in her throat, and Sakura thought about standing her ground less than a minute ago.

(No, no he's not.)

"Nothing."

"You try my patience, Sakura-san."

"So do you."

No shades this time, nothing to hide his face, and she didn't think it was a trick of the light either: she saw something in his eyes shift.

"My patience is limited."

"So's mine." She wondered if he'd hit her. "Is this something you want me to answer when I'm like this? I preferred sharing tea."

"That is not what I came here for," he bit out.

Was that his self-control slipping?

"No. You came to ask me about Deidara, about what happened. He didn't tell me anything, and I didn't _do _anything to him. I didn't hurt him to make him talk. I didn't even hurt him, unless you're talking about those bandages, and I tried to make that as painless as possible."

Itachi said nothing.

And Sakura steeled herself and looked at him, like she knew him, like she finally realized the monster she was facing, because the fundamental truth was: "I didn't. I wouldn't hurt him. If you think— if you think I made him talk, if I did anything to him when he was hurt like that, then you're wrong. I— _I'm not like you,_" she hissed, and it was like lifting a burden from her back. "I'm not a murderer, or a criminal; I'm not the person who turns away people, not when they're hurt the way he was."

He regarded her wordlessly, his face as unreadable as ever, and when Sakura felt she needed to look away, he was pulling her up to him. One hand behind her neck and pulling her forward and _up_, and before she could push him away (_what the hell—)_, his mouth was against her ear and his grip turned painful. He was too close and Sakura too shocked, too numb with wondering what _the fuck_ he was _doing._

"Pretty words, Sakura," he murmured into her ear, and she could acutely feel his nails dig into her neck, "but I didn't come for your compassion or speeches."

_You're insane,_ one part of her said; and _do it,_ said another; and _fuck you Uchiha Itachi_. She gritted her teeth, squirmed to press her palms against his shoulders, and _shoved_ with what little space she had left to do so. Like pushing against a wall, she thought, and if it had worked, it was only because he let her.

He wasn't taken aback as Sakura would have liked him to be, but he was so much further from her now – a welcome relief if nothing else. "You want to know what he said?" she spat, "You want to hear about Iwagakure and orphans without names or friends and maybe the iffiest art skills ever? Because that's all I know. That's all he told me. It's not that fascinating, is it Uchiha-_san?_"

She felt tired suddenly, so bone-achingly tired of this, all of this, and almost wondered why she was doing it; why she felt she had to prove herself guiltless to someone like him, why she even felt the need to consider or even believe what Deidara told her.

He looked unfazed. "That is all?"

"Yes," Sakura said, "yes that is fucking all there is." And realized what she had said, _aloud _and to _him_.

"I trust that you do not lie, Sakura-san," he said, face blank even though he couldn't have missed what she had said, "but your… interests are not with Deidara. He does not owe you anything, and I trust I do not need to remind you that your co-operation with us will make things less… complex for you."

"No," she said quietly, "no, you don't."

"Aah. Then— I am done here," he concluded, and turned to leave. Stopped. "I thank you for the tea. Sakura-san."

Sakura clenched her jaw and reminded herself that he was running out of patience and whatever she _wanted_ to do was surely not that necessary. She watched him leave, the way he had once before, in the visit at the middle of the night and she had pleaded to him then to leave Sasuke-kun alone.

She wondered what changed, and it wasn't until she heard the door click shut (_a good hostess walks her guests to the door_) that she sank down to the floor, oddly elated now that she was alone. There had been something different about Uchiha Itachi, something in his demeanor, something about his self-control or the lack of it.

Sakura glanced at her chair and where it had been thrown (_not broken_), and scrambled up (_no, her tea ware wasn't broken_) and realized: she wasn't crying. She wasn't crying or begging or pleading, and maybe it hadn't been Uchiha Itachi being different; maybe it had been her. Whatever fear that had been swirling around tight and sickening in her stomach moments ago felt as though it had washed away completely.

She blinked, oddly at peace with that epiphany, like that fact had been part of her all along. Wondered if it had been because of Deidara, or was it her own strength, or if she could have done it, could have stood her ground against Uchiha Itachi if it hadn't been because of the day's events.

**xXx**

Monday. The police squad left the apartment complex yesterday, after questioning every resident they could find, the usual round of how often they saw the landlord, and who could possibly want to kill him, and when did they last see him, etcetera, etcetera. Sakura had forced herself to remain calm when a particularly considerate officer asked how she was, and why that Youth Protection Officer had been up there for so long, and surely her lodgings were alright?

_Yes, yes they are. That man… he was just here for so long because he worried about the state of my health after the poor landlord's death._ The lie felt bitter in her mouth.

Lying to Ino made her feel guilty too, after she called yesterday, ecstatic over the good weather and _forehead-chan! The rain's finally stopped and it's a nice day and it's a sign that we should go out, shouldn't we?_ But she had work to do, she was so sorry Ino-pig, _really_, and she'd make up for it next time? Please?

She felt a bit more than guilty to want to see her today after that lie, but what was there to do? Sakura hadn't wanted to go outside, not out to the west side of Konoha where nothing was safe and people got shot and things _happened_, things that probably led to harboring criminals in her apartment.

Sakura stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, where she could see her own forlorn face and the awkwardly askew door. "I'm fine," she said aloud, then fiercely, "I'm perfectly fine. And I'm going to ace whichever test we have today that I didn't really study for."

It seemed to work. She smiled and her reflection smiled back at her. Let people see what they wanted to see: Haruno Sakura didn't have any problems that could be shared, ones that didn't involve west side Konoha and her family problems, and if she did, she wasn't spilling them to strangers. (_Not even half-naked ones_, that traitorous voice added.)

Optimistically, she added, "And that bathroom door isn't going to fall off anytime soon."

It almost did when she closed it though, but Sakura laughed to herself and went off to get ready for school. She was humming by the time she ran down the stairs, two at a time, ignoring the police tape and the security guard that was now posted at the entrance for an indefinite amount of time (which would be a week, she was guessing, given how much the police department really cared) and so, almost ran head-on into Sasuke.

"Sasuke-kun!"

"You're late," he said, looking slightly bothered by the fact. Late by ten minutes maybe, but she could get to school on time.

"That's not the point," she argued. And very self-consciously, she brushed back her hair, not wanting to meet his eyes because Sasuke suddenly looked very serious, almost _scary_ because he only ever did that when he was irritated (usually at Naruto, so what had she done wrong?) "What are you doing here anyway, Sasuke-kun?"

"Hn." A typical Sasuke-ish response, and the thought made her smile.

"Fine. _Don't _talk. See if I care," she said, stepping around him without looking back. He couldn't see the grin that spread over her face, but Sasuke had a way of knowing these things, so she wasn't surprised when he stepped in her path.

"I'm walking you to school."

Just like that – Sasuke-ish answers like that usually never bothered her; they were made with what appeared to have no rhyme or reason, but this time it did.

"What? What on earth are you going on about, I can walk myself to— _hey!_ Get back here—" because he had turned on his heel and was starting off without her and Sakura started running to catch up to him, "I can walk myself to school!"

No response, but he slowed down and she did too to follow his pace. It was rather early but warm, when the weather was still bearable before noon and walking to school with Sasuke, impassive as he was, was almost comforting. She didn't ask him when he woke up, because he was on the east side and the east and the west sides were _far_ apart – and Sasuke wouldn't have answered anyway, she knew that much of him.

"I was thinking," he started abruptly, "about the history project Kakashi-sensei gave us to do. Have you finished your half?"

Sakura froze. _Oh, yes, we decided on that, didn't we, because you got knocked out on the floor, but of course that didn't happen officially, did it?_

"I— ah, well—"

"You should come over sometime," he continued as if he hadn't heard her brief panicked stuttering, "I grabbed some books and that's more to your interests than mine."

She forced a laugh and punched him lightly in the arm, because that's what she usually did and nothing was out of the ordinary with her, not at all. "Sasuke-kun! You couldn't tell me this in class instead?"

Sasuke gave her a rare, wry smile, which was his answer for _no, just because I like to do things my way._

There was another statement burning in her mouth, one she knew she shouldn't say, but after a moment of walking in silence, she felt it slip. "And… and you told me before that… I wouldn't like it there."

He said nothing.

_Good grief, look what you've done,_ her guilty conscience hissed to her, _you had to do that to him, didn't you, stupid questions like that—_

"That," he started, cutting her thoughts off, "is true. It's lonely. And empty, but—" he chanced a sideward glance at her, "but it feels better there isn't one person there. Naruto already thinks it's haunted."

And Sakura smiled because there was nothing to say, because Sasuke was rarely ever sincere in his detachedly odd and quiet way, and even if he did like to mask his intentions with lots of words (that confused Naruto and Ino, and made Shikamaru complain on about his stalling) she could see the meaning in those words.

"Although really, even Kakashi-sensei would die of shame if you failed this assignment," he added.

"So mean, Sasuke-kun, so mean!"

It was only minutes away from school, that he said very, very quietly as if he was afraid of being overheard: "You should take care of yourself Sakura." She almost didn't hear him; when she did, she felt something run cold inside her.

"Of course, I do," she told him, equally quiet as if they were sharing secrets. Her skin prickled, as if she felt someone – or more than one? – watching her. Watching _them._ "You know I do."

He looked distant, almost wistful. "It's not very safe there. Not for you." And then a look of comprehension crossed his eyes and it was like that look had never been there at all. "We're going to be late."

Sasuke's hand closed around her wrist and he pulled her into a run – "It's five minutes, slow down— _hey_, we'll make it!" – and Sakura thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest.

**xXx**

There was a clay bird sitting on her shoe closet when she got home, and Sakura stared at it for a moment – _of course, what else did you expect?_ It was sitting on a neatly folded piece of paper, which brought a sudden wave of déjà vu that almost made her smile.

(_So. What to do now?_)

"You again," she said conversationally, "I'm starting to expect you here now. It's like you won't go away, or you never left in the first place." Saying that almost made her chest burn. She fought it down. "Well, how long _have_ you been sitting there? I can tell you my day, if you want, because it's about as boring as yours. I think I aced that biology test we had and… and we had a new substitute teacher arrive today."

She dropped her schoolbag and sat down to remove her shoes.

"He's… he's nice, I guess. Strange, a bit, that too. He's like Kakashi-sensei – Kakashi-sensei always wears a surgical mask because he say it helps ward off airborne diseases. And it's one of the reasons why he says he's always late to class or whichever. Well, this guy— Tobi-sensei, I think he's called, he wears this weird mask too. Only it's huge and bulky and _orange_, so Naruto likes him for sure, and he's gone between telling us it's because he has a bad burn on his face, or it's because he has some eyesight problem, or it makes him look funny to people, I really don't know, he's quite nice."

She put her shoes away quietly, looked up at the bird that she knew would not respond.

"He's very nice to me. And he seemed to know my name just by looking on the class list, even though he said he _guessed_ it from my hair. Kakashi-sensei seems very… hmm, standoffish to him. Must be because they teach history – Tobi-sensei must be competition or something."

There might be a microphone in that clay bird for all she knew, and she almost suspected there could be and it'd work in mysterious ways that she could never figure out, so she didn't say what she was thinking: _I don't trust him either._

She straightened up, brushed her skirt off. "Well. Moment of truth then." She took the paper that the bird acted as a paperweight for and unfolded it gingerly.

_Our apologies for the state of your door—_

"Liar."

—_and for the landlord – it was not our doing._

"No," Sakura said quietly, looking sideward at the innocuous bird on her shoe closet, "no, but it was your involvement, wasn't it?"

_I don't trust Tobi, and I don't think I trust you either._

She thought of crashing down on the couch, and then thought better of it because there were likely drugs or antiques or whatnot smuggled under the cushions. And the last line of the note was already something she had predicted, so very slowly, Sakura tore it down into paper-thin (_ha, oh, the irony_) shreds and washed it down the sink.

**xXx**

A good majority of the week was spent on the history assignment that would have usually taken three or so weeks to do, but Sasuke had been right when he said that books and research were more her thing than his. And Sasuke was smart too (_not as much as you,_ some wicked part gloated); and even if he didn't _actively_ acknowledge her academic intelligence (because boys had some stupid pride of theirs going on, one that she'd never figure out, nor did she _expect_ to figure out, not even after years of knowing Sasuke and Naruto) she was happy that he knew to leave her to her own devices.

The work was strenuous, the Uchiha household of one was empty and quiet (_filled with ghosts,_ her traitorous mind thought, even after Sasuke had turned up the classical music and tried his best to talk and fill up the silence) and Sakura would not admit that it unnerved her slightly, so two! _two _days of peace and quiet in her own apartment was starting to seem glorious beyond anything.

If it weren't for biology homework on the internal workings of a _fish_ – not even a mammal, for shame! – things could be almost perfect, was Sakura's irritated thought.

_Operculum_, she jotted down – that cheekbone-like thing fishes had, which protected the very delicate structures of the _gills_ that were necessary for respiration and gas exchange in fishes. She groaned, slapping the heel of her palm against her forehead. She needed a textbook with diagrams, or an actual fish that she could cut up and mutilate, or even better, time for a _break_.

And someone, at that exact moment, knocked on the door. Three knocks – slow, fast, fast. Maybe the Hoshigaki fellow, maybe not. More possibly than not, they were coming to retrieve something, which was odd because they only ever did that when she wasn't home.

Sakura swallowed and set down her pen. She didn't want to imagine the worse, didn't even want to think of a way to talk herself out of whatever she might have done wrong.

_Get a grip and go get it._

She pushed her chair back, discreetly slid the box cutter out of her schoolbag dumped on her table, hid it behind her books, and made for the door.

**xXx**

A good majority of the week was spent recovering, which frankly, was fucking painful and even worse than that was slowly, _slowly_ getting back on his feet again. In a week, Deidara had sworn that he'd never get poisoned again, that someone should kill Kabuto or at least recruit him to this (_not 'his', never 'his', and never, ever 'their'_) side so he'd never be hit with one of his sick cocktail of drugs, and that Zetsu's knowledge of plants and whatnot actually turned out useful for once.

And not once did he forget wanting to take Haruno Sakura's head in his hands and make sure she was listening _very_ closely to him.

Only that last part involved needing to find her out first, something which Sasori had very reluctantly let him go for, and that was only when he said he was there to plant antidotes in her apartment, should the need ever arise. It wouldn't be a _complete _lie, not really. And slipping off without telling the spawn of Satan himself, Uchiha fucking Itachi, almost felt good, and even if he would be accused of doing something stupid and foolhardy, at least he had told Sasori and that irritating mask-wearing 'good boy' of his a decent lie first?

What Uchiha Itachi did not know, Deidara thought, would not goddamn hurt him. (And it wouldn't hurt _him_ either, the less Itachi knew.)

Haruno Sakura finally answered the door after he knocked twice, and some amused part of him enjoyed the surprise that flitted across her face.

"Thought I'd died, un?"

She shook her head numbly, bewildered. "N-no. No, I…" she paused, swallowed, and that surprise was starting to turn to fear (no he didn't need that), "I just didn't know that you got out alright."

"No joke, I didn't _get out alright_. Now let me in, yeah?"

Deidara saw the hesitation in her face, the brief panic (of not knowing what he was going to do?) and then resignation as she undid the chain and pulled the door open. He was almost disappointed; he'd expected more backbone from her. Or something more, something out of the ordinary, at least.

He stepped in, remembering the Saturday when he had turned up and collapsed at the door. Or not really, _at_ the door, more—

_A flurry of—what? pastel pink? filling up his vision, some strange half-formed blur and the oddest sensation of warmth, almost warmth that he could feel through his rain-soaked clothes—_

—more collapsing in through the doorway, he'd say.

Sakura was watching him warily, more than a few steps away for her own supposed safety, most likely. He wasn't sure what it was about that look – she wasn't the only one to look at him like that, with a mixture of distrust and caution and borderline fear – that him feel sour inside.

(_I thought you didn't do that anymore, un, I thought you fucking grew a spine when you stood up against Uchiha Itachi himself._)

"You should really decorate this place a bit more, yeah?" he said, looking at the white walls and the near emptiness of the place, "Feels like a damn madhouse in here."

Deidara thought he heard a brief mutter – "Yeah, you'd know," – from her general direction before she said she didn't have the money or time to do something like that.

He snorted. "Paint the walls or something, un." Snuck a glance at her, so oddly forlorn and weary leaning against the wall away from him, and wondered why that was.

_Never mind that, get to the point._

"So." He rocked back on his heels, still at the doorway and not bothering with his shoes, "Get changed, Sakura-_chan_, we're leaving."

She reacted at that, eyes wide, almost _panicked_, and he wasn't sure if it was the mocking suffix he attached to her name, or her own fear in not knowing or having a choice in going.

"_What?_"

He shrugged, feigning disinterest (at her reaction, at her wide green eyes and at the subtle rounded edges of Haruno Sakura, accentuated by clothing and movement). "I said, get changed, _we're leaving_, un."

"But _where?_"

And Deidara grinned, more vicious than he had intended perhaps, but that wasn't his fault, was it, just because his smiles scared some people off when he was _happy_, heaven forbid.

"It's a surprise, yeah?"

**xXx**

The bike looked like the ones Kiba would have killed to own. Or, sold a kidney and maybe someone else's for.

"That's… that's yours?" Sakura managed.

Deidara looked disgustingly smug, grinning like a madman and twirling the keys around on his fingers. He ran his hands over the motorbike, over leather and polished steel. "Awesome, yeah? _Ninja 650R_,cost me heaps, but it's…" he trailed off, touching the bike like something precious.

It was – black and sleek and impressive in its motorcycle-y way. Kiba would have killed to have a chance to ride it, and even if she knew next to nothing about motorbikes, it still looked amazing.

"Wow," she breathed, suddenly forgetting to be afraid of where they were going. She had chosen practical clothing – dark jeans, t-shirt, well-used sneakers – that was easy to run and blend in with, but suddenly it seemed so minimal now that… that a _motorbike_ had been added into the equation.

"Well," he said, popping open the saddlebag and throwing a helmet at her, "that should fit you, un."

Sakura stared at it – _oh, no, no are you crazy?_ – and then back up at him, struggling to find words.

"Yeah, give me your undying gratitude later, kid. Get the damn helmet on already." That was easy for _him_ to say, and she finally figured out why he had left the usual suit (the black one with that striped shirt, the same one she'd cut off him a week ago) behind and opted for a leather jacket and jeans instead.

She swallowed. "No, that's not it. I'm not really dressed for this, am I?"

Deidara laughed in the midst of changing his gloves – _at least he's safe, the selfish— bastard!_ "I'm a good driver, un. Don't worry about a thing."

"I meant the police! They'll arrest you and arrest me and I'm too young to have a criminal record, and they probably already are keeping an eye on me after that incident at Yamamoto's garage, and the apartment block—"

He rolled his eyes and walked to her, sending a jolt down her spine. _You talk too much, _she told herself and stepped back when he reached over and—

—jammed the helmet over her head.

Sakura swallowed; he was leaning down to meet her height, or more to look her dead in the eye. "I said, don't worry your pretty head about it, un," he said with false cheer, smiling like a madman. There were the soft 'thwok' sounds of his hand against the top of the helmet – like he was patting her head? _what the hell?_ – and Deidara flipped the visor down.

_He could at least worry a bit about your safety,_ some part of her huffed indignantly, but that part was overridden by the twittering little voice that said he didn't care and he didn't need to care about her safety because he was going to kill her while he took her away somewhere, wasn't he?

She watched his back as he shoved his own helmet and swung a leg over the bike, and almost didn't go when Deidara pulled his head back and gestured for her to get on. "Hurry up, yeah? I'm losing precious time already here." Sakura clambered on, not entirely sure where the passenger was _meant_ to hold on to the rider, and then she realized he was glancing back at her and _laughing._

"Just hold on," he said, turning back but not before she could see the mirth in his eyes. "It'll be the ride of your _life_, un."

_Or whatever's left of it_, Sakura thought as he sped off without warning. The burst of speed almost threw her off, or it might not have been that way at all, because she had dug her fingers into his jacket, the leather well-worn and smooth under her hands and she was holding on for dear life. Almost distantly, she could feel her heart racing in her chest and something like joy bubbling up in her, and through all the noise of the traffic and people and wind and the city, she heard Deidara's voice, low, just loud enough for her to hear: "You like it then, Sakura?"

_Yes, _she didn't say, helmet pressed against his shoulder and not daring to look at the scenery blur around her. Sasuke's hand around her wrist and pulling her, telling her to _hurry up, we'll be late_ had made her heart pound like something insane, but this was different. More overly fast vehicles for one, added with the driver's blatant disregard for safety, the law and speeding rules, and it was— it was—

_It's like flying,_ Sakura thought, keeping her eyes closed.

It took a while before she opened her eyes again, and when she did, she saw they were leaving the city and going into the suburbs instead. Leafier, yes, and with more breathable air, and it reminded her of the weekend outings her family used to go on occasion.

There were also less people in the suburbs. And it was quieter there too. She swallowed and glanced around. It was one of the places she'd been to as well, which might work as an advantage for her because she knew where to go if she had to run. Long enough to find a police station if she had to, even get back to her apartment, grab some stuff and run for it, if necessary.

What if it came down to that?

Deidara turned suddenly, going off the main road and into the main business district of the suburbs – _there's plenty of people there, why is he going there?_

To make her seem at ease probably.

Sakura gritted her teeth; she'd jump off and run as soon as they stopped if she could. Any chance would be better than none, and if she could find a crowd, she'd blend into it somehow, pink hair be damned, and—

—and they were stopping, and it was somewhere familiar, somewhere she'd been to before. She blinked; the visor wasn't as clean as it should have been, but she could have sworn that it looked exactly like…

"Mizuki's _dango_ store," Deidara said, without turning around to look at her, "Go grab something, yeah? I need to find someplace to park this thing, un."

She hopped off gingerly, not believing it and not even sure what to say. She shoved the helmet back into the saddlebag and watched him speed off from the sidewalk, wondering whether it was time to run or not.

_He's luring you into a false sense of security, you know._

Sakura dug her hand into a jeans pocket, fingering the coins and wrinkled notes she placed in there; she thought about bus routes and tickets and getting back to the city. No, she didn't know that. But she did know he didn't have the best intentions, nor was he someone to be trusted (she knew that part _very_ well.)

She glanced around, at the people enjoying their weekend, shopping and dating and talking, sidestepping her and giving her odd looks on why she was just standing aimlessly on the sidewalk.

If she left now, she wouldn't know why he bothered taking her out here in the first place. Or, really, she didn't need to know at all. But if she ran off and he found her again…

Cheered by the thought of _dango,_ Sakura walked into Mizuki's store, imagining that it was a previous visit, that she was younger and her parents were with her, that she didn't have housing or family problems. Or monetary problems either – that came from the 'child support' payments, and it was just enough to cover groceries, utility bills and her rent.

Still. A stick or two of _dango_…

Mizuki greeted her behind a pane of glass, looking older than she had remembered. He wasn't smiling as much as he used to and he looked tired as Sakura dawdled, lingering over the ones with different seasonings and flavours and colours. The store smelt sweet, of _anko_ syrup and black sesame and green tea; Sakura closed her eyes and breathed _in_ – walnut and chestnut powder, sugary sweet syrup toppings, something flowery, almost like her namesake.

"Taking your sweet time, yeah?"

_Deidara._

Her eyes snapped open; he was leaning on the wall just by her, eyeing her intently. Mizuki suddenly stiffened behind the wall of glass.

"I thought you wanted some too," she said in her defense. He parked fast, for sure.

His nose wrinkled in distaste – Sakura almost laughed at his childish movement. "Told you. Hated stuff like that, un. Go make a pick already."

She had skimped on breakfast that morning and she was almost happy that she did so. Splurging on a few treats couldn't matter that much, so she watched as the staff worked through an order – two _hanami dango_ because she liked the colours and one _anko dango_.

Deidara slapped the money on the counter before she did. Out of the corner of her eye, Sakura could see Mizuki have a miniature heart attack, and then she whirled back to him and told him she could pay just fine.

"Yeah, you could, un. But I am."

Mizuki took the money before she could protest, looking as white as a ghost while he did so. He mumbled something about enjoying her order and her day and to come back again, before she snatched up the bag and stomped off. She didn't once look back but Deidara caught up when she was only two steps out of the doorway. His arm looped behind her shoulders, pulling her close; Sakura froze.

"I wouldn't have done that if I were, un," he breathed into her ear, almost a warning. Then: "I don't trust that man at all." He steered her in another direction, walking with the crowd of people. Maybe they were trying to blend in, she thought desperately, and maybe she shouldn't have just _stomped off_ like that, idiot that she was.

They stopped at a park, and he couldn't have let go of her sooner. The opportunity arose when Deidara was looking edgily at everything except her, and Sakura chose the right moment to peel his arm away from her.

"Something wrong?"

"No, un," he said between gritted teeth.

"That's good," she said lightly, twirling around with her arms flung apart. She remembered coming here when she was twelve and innocent and far less cynical than she was now – her hair was elbow-length and Ino had been invited along and she still had a photo of her and Ino spinning around in spring where all the _sakura_ flowers were in bloom. She might have hit her new blond companion with her bag of carefully-wrapped _dango_ too, because Deidara was staring at her without restraint.

"Sorry," she laughed and made off towards the nearest bench. She could have made do without anyone following her except she had _dango_ and some relative peace and it seemed sort of alright now, because there were people around and he had sort of bought her lunch (_sort of? He paid for you, even if you wouldn't have wanted him to!_) and she still couldn't figure out why he was doing this.

"Hey," Sakura started as she unwrapped the _dango,_ eyes carefully trained on the task. She could feel him nearby without looking – he was sitting on the back of the bench like an unruly teenager. "Why are you doing this anyway?"

"Hn." Unresponsive. Like Sasuke, almost.

"Well…" she glanced up at him, meeting his eyes and Deidara looked away suddenly. "I suppose… thank you anyhow." She smiled, a genuine one and even if he didn't see it – or didn't want to see it, stubborn idiots that boys could be – she felt better for it. She didn't trust him anymore than she did before, but what was the point of taking her out here, buying her food and then killing her?

Halfway down the first _hanami_ _dango_, he finally spoke. "I suppose… that…" he paused, "That you like this stuff, yeah? You might as well have it, un." Sakura stared at him, mouth wrapped around the skewer she held, trying to digest that and the white _dango_ she was biting down on.

"Oh."

_That's the closest thing you'll get to a 'thank you' and you know it, Haruno._

There was one pink piece left on her skewer. She poked him in the knee with the pointed end and held it up to him.

He scoffed. "It's _pink._ I don't like that stuff, didn't I say?"

Sakura gestured to her hair, "You don't like pink?" The smile crept over her face before she could help herself. He was staring bewilderedly at her again, no doubt thinking she was some crazy mood-swinging, bipolar teenaged girl with fake hair; and very slowly and carefully, as if he were handling a bomb (_the irony of something like that_), the skewer changed hands.

**xXx**

The thing that was bothering her most was… almost everything. The whole thing, the whole setup, it was… almost like a _date_. Except he had said little, and ate little and stared at the scenery (more like their surroundings, as if he _liked_ parks) almost all the time, and when she had finished her _dango_ after giving up on trying to share with him, it was as if _he_ decided that they should go.

That was better, Sakura thought through her irritation – she could be angry at him and not imagine that this whole day had felt a _bit_ like a date. And when they were near the street where he said he parked his motorcycle, Deidara asked, without even looking at her, what Itachi had done to her.

"What?" she said, almost stopping in her tracks. He pulled at her to keep going.

"Uchiha. What did he do to you?"

"What does it matter?" she whispered back, keeping close to him. She could see the bike now, starkly black against other parked vehicles.

"It does."

"_Why?_"

No answer. Sakura frowned. They were at the bike, and Deidara pulled out a helmet from the saddlebag, stiffly and slowly. She could read his body language, subtle as it was.

Something was wrong.

And before she could ask, Deidara took her by the shoulders, pulling her towards him until she felt herself stumble against his chest, leaned down and kissed her. On the forehead, at least – she could hear her blood pounding in her ears and felt like screaming at him until he breathed, so terribly softly that she imagined that she had misheard him, that mishearing things was better than the horrible truth.

"Get on. And don't look back, un. We're being followed."

**xXx**

_Even the bottom of the sea remembers when light leaked out,_

_With everything astir and the key now placed in my hand…_

…_what can I awaken?_

**xXx**

**

* * *

**-

Chapter is not yet edited or checked – Fallacy has some computer problems and it's not fair to give her more troubles. So spelling errors and such, point it out to me.

I should apologize. I don't have any excuses that I feel I should make, so here is one long chapter to compensate. I hope it sort of does. Lyrics that were used are by Chihiro Onitsuka, who is an amazing folk-pop singer-songwriter.

Itachi is lacking his scary eye powers – but that doesn't make him any less scary when he death-glares people. I apologize for his out-of-characterness; but given the last chapters he was in, he needed some… dimensions. Sasuke might also seem nice – I'm trying to make him normal, I really am.

On my profile page, I said there would be fish in this chapter. I didn't have time for that; it's in the next. Ivy Adrena might know what I'm talking about.

If anyone wants a timeline, it's been five weeks since the events of the prologue took place, and it's still spring. This might be relevant, you know?

And to everyone who reviewed: you are the people who keep inflating my ego and convince me to keep going with this. Really, I should let it deflate for a bit. (Sincerely though, thank you for actually reading this. Still, after so long.) And also, rozene on Deviant Art drew art for this. I'm as amazed as you guys are. Check it out! Also, music on my profile for you guys – it's not quite the soundtrack for _Gunpowder,_ but it sure inspires me.


	6. Love Hate Give Take

_Something was wrong._

_And before she could ask, Deidara took her by the shoulders, pulling her towards him until she felt herself stumble against his chest, leaned down and kissed her. On the forehead, at least – she could hear her blood pounding in her ears and felt like screaming at him until he breathed, so terribly softly that she imagined that she had misheard him, that mishearing things was better than the horrible truth._

"_Get on. And don't look back, un. We're being followed."_

_

* * *

-  
_

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**LOVE/HATE/GIVE/TAKE**

* * *

**xXx**

_After:_

_And afterwards, she couldn't go back to that park, or that alleyway, or walk down that road without the memories flooding back to her. All that death, and she walked out of it in one piece, which seemed like an injustice in itself._

_No more _dango_, and no more going back to the store which had once been Mizuki's (_but no longer because he's dead, Sakura-chan, don't you remember?_)_ _and it was when she was off cheering Kiba at his latest motorcycling competition that she realized she'd never want to kiss anyone else ever again._

**xXx**

If, Deidara decided as they sped down the highway, if he ever got to decide the rules on how intuition and instinct worked, he'd tell all of everyone in Akatsuki (except for Itachi because he could die for all he cared, and maybe Tobi for being so bothersome, and Kisame for being there to recruit him, and Sasori-danna if he hadn't some measure of respect for him) that people with silvery hair were not _meant to be fucking trusted._

Kabuto, for one, with his goddamn medical knowledge and poisons. And that Mizuki person in the store – he looked too nervous the moment he had shown up, and he _had_ to be linked to Oto because they were being followed by them right now.

And on today of all days. Couldn't he have a day off without being almost chased down, almost murdered or poisoned or blown up?

_And you have something _else_ to worry about too._

Deidara gritted his teeth and ducked his head when a speeding camera monitored his driving. No face, no worries – and the motorcycle wasn't properly registered anyway. No chance of seeing Sakura's face either – he could feel her helmet digging into his back, and almost wondered if this was the only way she'd come this close to him.

_Stop thinking, idiot._

He could lose them if he and Sakura got back to the west side with a considerable distance between their pursuers. He could go off to that part of the city he knew intimately, where it was rife with alleys and twists and turns. He could lose them, whoever they were; he knew he could.

But if it was safe? Far from it. (_Because, _his cynical, rational side added, _there are things to consider, like the added weight, the extra drag, the limits that we have because of this girl tagging along._)

As if in response, he could feel Sakura's grip tighten, her fingers clenching and pulling at his jacket.

_Don't be stupid, un,_ he wanted to say, but he couldn't do that, not at the moment and not ever to her.

(_Nothing's gonna happen to you._

But Deidara couldn't promise that, not after he heard what Itachi had done.)

He could survive the warehouse district and alleyways in one piece because no one ever questioned what happened in places that could not be seen; but with her? He'd never had a passenger, let alone a terrified girl clinging onto him for dear life— and then he realized that he'd never needed to look out for anyone, save his partners from Akatsuki, in his whole life.

If he got back, they'd wonder how he did it. They'd know about the Oto agents that had pursued him (_them_) and they'd ask about how he'd (_they'd_) gotten away and if he let one word about Haruno Sakura slip, that'd be the end of it for her.

And he would answer because he had to, because he could literally do nothing else.

He had to think about getting away in one piece first.

"Hold on," Deidara shouted, hoping that she could hear him over the sound of the bike and the wind, "And don't look back."

He swerved the bike, chancing a glance in the mirror for a better angle on their pursuers. A few cars and two bikes – that would be them most likely, the ones concealing their faces with helmets, hiding Kevlar under leather jackets and boots. Two street bikes, an advantage on their part: fast, better for acceleration, lighter, easier to blend in with. His Ninja 650R might not be perfect, but his control almost was, and good brakes, stability and the knives strapped down on him didn't hurt either.

He almost smiled. A challenge? He didn't mind challenges, but he did like the speed, the wild heart-racing grace of skidding and speed wobbles, a brush of death in itself. Almost art, considerably dangerous but what was life without rush or risk? (_Going out with a bang, Deidara?_)

They were going to make it, he wanted to tell her – they were going to make it and he knew it, knew it almost by instinct because he had lived out these scenarios before, had survived from luck and from the knowledge that he couldn't die before his time.

_I'm not going to let anything happen to you, un,_ he didn't say because he couldn't promise that, not to her, not after what he had done to her already (that wouldn't be fair) – and if there was nothing else Iwa no Deidara, murderer, arsonist, liar, terrorist, could do, he could at least keep her alive because this crazy, desperate chase from Oto had nothing to do with her.

He at least owed her that much.

**xXx**

Deidara had told her get on, so she had clambered on without a word; and Deidara had told her not to look back, so she hadn't dared, even when she thought the curiosity might kill her; and Deidara had told her to hold on, so Sakura was clutching at him for dear life when she had no hell of a clue what was happening.

_Oh god. Oh god oh god oh _ couldn't get off the bike but she couldn't stay _on_ it with a man she didn't trust and she was _doomed._ She'd been scared before, but that was being scared of _them_, and faced with something that made even Deidara nervous?

She kept her fear down; she kept her wits together. And then she held on tighter when Deidara swerved _hard_, making for the exit at the last possible moment. Given the quick look he threw over his shoulder and the audible curses she could hear even through the loud whistle of the wind, whoever had chased them were still at it.

Deidara flipped the visor up (in total disregard of road safety rules, Sakura noted) and looked back ahead. He yelled over the wind: "My jacket! Get an arm around my waist, un, and get the first thing you find on the left lining!"

She tensed. Unfist one hand from his jacket, wind the other around his waist, fumble? _grope?_ feel one hand into his clothing and take out whatever it was Deidara wanted out – it wasn't too hard. But it was _Deidara's_ commands, and _Deidara's _requests, and her muscles refused to obey her.

_One hand at a time_, she thought._ One. Hand._

But they were going so fast and there was the rolling fear (of falling off at such a speed, of being caught by whoever they were running from, of being hurt by whoever _Deidara_ was scared of) in her stomach.

Sakura calculated: his clothes weren't flapping open in the wind, which meant she had to undo the front; she had to undo the zip singlehandedly andfind whatever it was he wanted; and in addition, she would only have a single arm around his waist, a few seconds at best for her security, and the motorcycle helmet she had was getting in the way at the moment. Ambidexterity helped – she needed the left side of his jacket, and her right arm moved quicker than her left. If she was constricting him by bringing an arm across the front of his chest, she could at least move her right one away better.

She breathed hard, thought about _dango_ and their nearly-perfect day-which-had-not-been-a-date. It was an awful way to die – post-date, motorcycle accident, what a tragic couple, something that might make three or four paragraphs in the newspaper. Then she unclenched her left hand from his jacket, threw that arm around his waist immediately, and reached around his other side with her right to get at the zipper. The tab slipped between her fingers, and then Deidara took a sharp swerve, and her hand ended up gripping a handful of his jacket to keep herself steady.

Sakura inhaled, then exhaled, and tried again, one hand tracing down his chest, along the path of the zipper, until she found the bottom. She gripped the tab, pulled, and it caught and stopped when he leaned sharply to the right.

_Relax,_ she thought, _and try again._

Deidara shifted, like he was fidgeting, and she took that as a cue to hurry up.

She had it half-unzipped before she found enough space to wriggle her hand into his jacket – she patted across his chest, fumbling towards the left. Deidara was warm, and the warmth was a relief when she felt a cold sweat build up over her skin. The arm wound around his waist tightened in panic; her fingers caught the lining, plucked at it, and if Deidara had told her 'the first thing you find', he had better damn mean it.

She grabbed the first solid thing she found and pulled her right arm back.

_A bird?_

The pigeon. Or sparrow. Whichever it was. _This again._

"Now throw it!" he yelled.

She yelled back. "We're in public! On public road! What if I hit someone?"

"There's no one else out here except us and them, un! _Throw it_ before they _catch up_!"

It would turn into a yelling contest if either of them didn't give in. "But…" she started.

"Don't argue with the driver, yeah? Throw it and throw it _hard_, because it's doesn't detonate until it travels past a certain velocity, or if it doesn't impact with enough force!"

Sakura blinked and almost commented on his genius on making bombs controlled by pressure (and hidden in _clay birds_ of all things) – she chose to swallow, turn back in defiance of Deidara's command to 'not look back', and take aim at the closest motorbike near them.

And _damn_, it was close.

_It's going to kill them_, she thought.

It was going to _kill_ someone. What she was holding in her hands was a murder device modeled from a boy's memory of his only childhood friend. It was terrifying, but it was necessary. Sakura dug her fingers into the leather jacket, soft and worn and smooth with age, like a hand-me-down her parents might have gifted her with, if they weren't divorced, if she still mattered to them.

_I _want _to see my parents_, she realized._ And I don't want to die here._

Even if it meant doing—

_Even that._

Throwing a bomb wasn't quite like aiming a punch, but she imagined that it was a punch she was throwing, that her target was Naruto's head on the occasions he managed to annoy the hell out of her. She held her grip on Deidara, narrowed her eyes and found the best trajectory she could through the interference of the visor, pitched her arm back—

—_and committed murder._

—and threw hard.

She snapped her head back and clung on tighter to Deidara.

_I killed someone, oh god, I killed someone, killed someone, killed—_

Deidara was yelling and swearing and it wasn't about her aim; Sakura caught the words _'Kevlar'_ and _'body armor'_ and explosives being useless, and realized if he was panicking, she should be too.

She pulled her visor up and shouted back. "What do we do?"

He accelerated in response. Sakura was propelled forward into his shoulder with a yelp, before he swerved again, and she was starting to take note of the surroundings and the landmarks of the west side of Konoha when Deidara took another swerve into a narrow, painfully _narrow_, alleyway.

"I'm losing them, un," he called out to her, "But it's not enough. Hold on, yeah?"

_Where did that come from?_ was one thought she had, followed by, _I'm going to die, I'm going to die—_

They went through a stack of cardboard boxes (hopefully empty, or at least free of any sleeping homeless people) while Sakura held on for dear life, and she counted two incidences of knocking over garbage cans and running over gutter rats (squeaking, mingled with the unpleasant sound of bodily contact) before Deidara skidded to a halt that nearly sent her flying off the bike.

"Off. Now."

The look on his face threw her off, until she heard the rattle of gunshots in the near distance.

She took one look at her surroundings, and wondered if it was better to stay on the most dangerous motorcycle ride she ever had in her life, or to wander through the district of abandoned warehouses alone.

"Now! What part of that don't you get, un!"

This was the abandoned warehouse district, where the urban decay in the west side were most evident. Sakura couldn't stop herself shaking when she stumbled down and pulled the helmet off, nor could she stop herself stammering, "Don't— don't you even know what goes _on_ here?"

Deidara reached out, caught her wrist in a vice and pulled her up to stare him in the eye. "I know. Start running, now."

"But—"

"It's bad here, yeah! I know it's bad here, but it's worse if I keep you around, un. You're dead weight out there, and you were a sitting target the second we got out of the suburbs."

She pulled her wrist away, trying not to think about how it hurt and focused on Deidara instead. On his anger, on his impatience, on the sliver of fear and panic he was trying to hide.

"I—"

"I'll check up on you later. Now _run_ already!"

'_I know'_ he had said, but did he really know? People like him roamed in places like these, were used to place like these, _existed_ and live in places like these, and she didn't have anything, not a box cutter, not a razor, not even a pair of scissors. And in a place like this, no one could hear her scream, or would even stop to hear someone's plea for help.

"But I'm scared—" she started, her voice catching in her throat. She hated herself in that moment – it was one thing to be scared, and it was something else entirely to admit she was scared to someone like him, to an enemy (_or savior maybe, or _dango-_sharing buddy, or something else entirely—_._)_

Deidara blinked at her, and she must have said the wrong thing, or he must have misunderstood her, because he was reaching forward, one arm at the bike handle, and the other free to wrap around her waist and pull her close enough so that her hip hit the bike, and his mouth brushed against her ear and she was caught his hold, this one-sided hug where she was frozen in place and his presence wasn't as so much terrifying as it was unexpected.

His voice was a rasp. "They won't get to you, un. I promise. I _promise._"

She swallowed; he pulled away and replaced his helmet, and she had one glimpse of his fight-hardened eyes, as sharp and blue as the summer sky, before he flipped the visor down. Sakura inhaled, wanting to say something (_thank you_, perhaps) but stepped back and ran instead.

She hoped that the roar of the motorcycle behind her meant Deidara was confidently (_overconfidently_) charging into a fight.

**xXx**

Deidara didn't stop to see her run. He only hoped that she was good at doing that, that she knew her way out, that she didn't run into their Oto pursuers. Hell, he was hedging his bets on a lot of things, and those things were centred on his situation. He didn't want to think about hers, or how the odds might be stacked against her, only that Sakura would get away, would stay alive the further she was from him.

(No matter how much her warmth clung to him, and the memory of her wild-eyed courage against him that cut deep in his mind, and the smile she had that was _his_, just his, not her friends or family or Uchiha Sasuke's, in the moment she offered the last stick of _dango_ to him.

His.

For a moment, he believed it too.)

He spun back, skidded around a corner that would lead to another labyrinth of alleys, one that might let him sneak up behind whatever punks Oto thought could take him. With one less piece of baggage attached to him, it almost felt good to be doing this, one more fucking _fight_ that made him forget Akatsuki and remember what he was good, what he was _brilliant _at.

He threw a bird behind him without looking, on a path that was likely to be well out of the way of any course Sakura would take. And then another, and another, until it was a minefield in miniature.

And an uncompleted artwork foremost.

Deidara slowed at the doorway of a burnt out warehouse, not killing the engine, but enough to glimpse through the charred planks and broken windows if they had split.

Just two were barely enough.

But he had his art to complete, and two were _just perfect_ for that.

**xXx**

Sakura heard the explosion when she was almost out of the warehouse district – an explosion, coupled with the roar of burning gasoline, not as distant as she would have liked them to be. She gritted her teeth and prayed she wouldn't run into Deidara's traps.

_Except wouldn't that be the most convenient way to get rid of you too?_

She squashed that thought and _oh thank god,_ rounded a corner and was met with a fence, through which were the grimy streets of the west side that she was familiar with. She swore – it was one alley down and behind barbed wire at that, and she was surrounded with warehouses that she could hardly run through.

_Don't turn back. _There were most likely explosives everywhere if she doubled back – surely Deidara didn't underestimate her intelligence and even_ assume_ she'd go back to where she'd come from.

_If he even has any intentions of keeping you alive._

Sakura closed her eyes, gauging her sense of direction, trying to remember which turns she had taken, which was best to go forward and not back. One beat, then two – and she couldn't waste any more time than that, and when she looked up, the daylight was slipping away. She tried to remember which direction the sun rose when she looked at it from the front of the apartment block, tried to guess where it would be setting now, and closed her eyes, took a guess (_leap of faith!_)

She took a left, sidestepping cardboard boxes and rusted machinery, abandoned seats littered on the path, and _anything_ that looked like it was made out of clay.

_Almost there. Almost. There._

And there, almost like a godsend, a wide strip of concrete along which she could see the end in sight. Her stomach knotted. Sakura breathed hard, not quite letting herself smile, already on a final burst of speed.

Her legs that were tensed for the last dash forward almost buckled in and collapsed on themselves when she felt the hand seize her arm and spin her backwards, into the face of a biker with a leather jacket and bright eyes and _definitely_ _not Deidara_.

She couldn't breathe, couldn't gasp, couldn't even manage a scream in the horror that went through her like a jolt of electricity.

But her voice wasn't quite lost, because Sakura yelped when the man clenched a gloved hand in her hair and pulled forward, held it to his face.

"Well," he said quietly, as if in contemplation to himself, "doesn't _this_," her fairy floss, candy pink hair dark against the leather of his gloves, like they were against the leather of Deidara's coat, "look familiar."

**xXx**

There was a bike on the pathway, and it wasn't scorched nor his nor unfamiliar. It was abandoned, and Deidara cursed himself to hell and back for not even _thinking_ that they might go on foot after their partner was blown sky-high and into pieces.

He hopped off his, and told himself that it was because he needed to do this with stealth, with silence and on foot, not because of the sensation in his gut, the same he had felt when he looked Itachi in the eye upon their first meeting. No explosives, just guns. Stealth and speed.

Deidara cut off the thought that started with _Sakura_ and ducked behind a wall. The best way to do this, he decided, was with a ton of C4, and—

"Akatsuki!" the rasping voice came, followed by a muffled shriek, high-pitched, feminine.

—bullets. Lots and lots of bullets instead of explosives, something that could directed and aimed at, precise instead of encompassing, not long-range or distance as he preferred.

"Don't you want her back?"

He crept along the alleyway, but it mattered little, because the Oto agent turned the corner, gun in hand, and hostage in his arms – Sakura, with a blade against her neck and cloth bunched between her lips, her eyes wide.

Terrified.

"Well, Akatsuki?"

Deidara kept his eyes open, didn't flinch, gun already raised. "Who sent you?" he bit out.

His question was ignored – the bastard backed away, around the corner into open space, and Deidara had no choice to follow. He had the knife on the lining of his jacket out when the line of blood bloomed on Sakura's throat after she had purposely dragged her heels, slowed her captor down.

"If you let me do this neatly," his opponent sneered, "I promise to take _good_ care of her afterwards." The hand at her throat shifted, moved to caress her hair, but it wasn't an opening, not enough when her petite frame still covered most of his.

"And if I'm not concerned about what anyone does to her, un?"

He tried not to notice what those words did to her, how the expression in her eyes changed, tried to focus on the Oto agent instead. His face went from triumphant to panicked in a moment, a fraction of a moment, when he realized he didn't have a captive or even body armor, just a wall in which his bullets would miss and be slowed, which was leaning back, holding him down. It was enough for him to lift the gun and throw her aside and—

—it was more than enough time for Deidara to shoot first, one neat bullet into the centre of the forehead, the man's neck snapping back.

If his heart wasn't racing, he might have believed it the cleanest and easiest kill he made.

But there was still Sakura to take care of, folded along the ground. She was still conscious, and she was shrinking away from him when he fell to his knees before her, pulling her up to him. He pulled the gag out, but she was shaking, trembling harder than she had when she was at knifepoint, her gaze diverted to the ground and avoiding him.

_I didn't mean it,_ he wanted to say, but he cut the bonds on her wrists first.

Sakura scrambled away, heedless of the debris on the ground that she dragged herself over.

"Don't—" he started.

"Don't come near me," she stammered, but he couldn't see if it was fear or anger in her voice, in her eyes, "Please—please don't, just don't—"

_Please. Don't. Not like this, not like—_

"You don't need to look at him, yeah?" He had a hand outstretched, trying to placate her and not knowing _why_, except that when he had wanted her to fear him, he hadn't known better, and it wasn't meant to be _like this_—

"It's not that—not that, oh God, not that—_don't come near me!_" she finished, voice rising to a shriek. Sakura was huddling now, curled up so tightly in herself that she didn't realize the irrationality of her panic, the irrationality of being scared of _him._

"I—I wouldn't have done that, not to you, Sakura—"

She was close to breaking down then, shaking so hard he could imagine her bones creaking, rattling deep inside her. There was a sudden anguish in her eyes, and she averted her gaze, away from him, and Deidara took that chance to pounce forward, to pull her to him. He could feel her trembling under his fingers, but the fact she clung to him, to _him_, even after she saw him murder someone, it was— it was like—

"You killed him," she gasped, stuck between grabbing him like he was an anchor, a point of stability, and trying to struggle away, "You killed him and you would have killed me, I don't even know what—what's going _on_ anymore—"

There was blood on her, splatters where her captor's blood had flown and landed – across her shirt and in her hair and just a bit under her eye, smearing now at the first tear that ran down her face. He remembered the day when she had him rain-wet and bleeding in her shower – and now there was blood on her and blood on him and Sakura was so warm under his hands, pressed to him, and in the moment where he leaned back a fraction to look at her better, to take her in better, Deidara couldn't think of a moment where he was gladder that he was alive, that she was too.

He cupped the side of her face, wanting his gloves off and wanting the warmth of her skin, his thumb at her lower lip and his trigger finger brushing the loose strands of her hair away from her eyes. He knew about delicacy, about shaping the sharper points of the sculpture, about precision when it came to detail, about fine touches when he had to handle the thin, brittle sections of his artwork.

Deidara knew less about gentleness, had never needed it when he smoothed down the body of a clay bird with sure, certain hands or when he touched a woman he bought in the districts lit by garish red lights, but he thought he managed it when he slanted his other hand against the side of her and leaned down to kiss her.

Sakura pulled back, and he let go, but she gripped his jacket, like a lifeline, like it was support, and pressed forward clumsily. One kiss, two, soft and uncertain, as much as she could give, he supposed, but he wanted more than that, and he was fighting to peel his gloves off, to clench his fingers in her hair, prying her mouth open with his and kissing her harder.

"Stop," she mumbled into his mouth, hands flattening against his chest and pushing, "_Stop._"

He did. He wasn't sure what the fuck he was doing, stopping when he wanted to do the exact opposite, but he did. Sakura backed away, her warmth and all the warmth in him leaving with her. She stood on shaky legs, and wiped away her tears and the blood with the back of her hand. Her eyes were the colour of the grass that didn't grow in the cracked earth in Iwa, sharp, green blades that never saw the sun, that he had never touched.

"I don't know what's going on anymore," she repeated, and he could tell she wasn't just talking to him.

He plucked at the lapels of his jacket. "You're going to need this to cover up—" he made a gesture at his shirt, indicating the blood smeared on hers, "_that._"

"No," Sakura said, stumbling backwards, "you can keep it," and she turned and fled.

Deidara watched her go, unable to tell himself anything. He looked up at the darkening sky, a melted mixture of orange and dusky rose and yellow and pink, shivered suddenly, as if from the cold.

**xXx **

_I wanna see your smile,_

_I wanna see you now,_

_Love or hate,_

_Give or take,_

_Which do you take?_

**xXx**

Sakura was fortunate enough to dash down four blocks without faltering and without being noticed for having bloodstains on her clothing, and she had her wits about her when she got to her apartment (no landlord there to warn her about the lifts, not anymore), up the stairs and on her floor, until the door closed. She slammed it behind her and collapsed, back curled against the wall.

_Oh god. Oh god, oh god, ohgodohgod—_

What was she doing?

What had she just _done_?

_Something you didn't mind, _some dark voice in her muttered.

Something terrible. Terrible, awful, disgusting, that made her skin crawl and her insides shudder, that made her want to hold her head between her knees and breathe _hard _so she could hold the tears down, and when she rocked back and wrapped her arms around herself and hugged herself tight, Sakura realized that for one moment, it hadn't actually been any of those (_terrible, awful, disgusting_) things.

It wasn't a groundbreaking epiphany, or a dramatic realization that she was in love with him – far from it, and she almost scoffed (_that's for TV drama heroines with impressively good hair and lighting, stupid._) It was a chill that went straight through her, when she realized that this, _all_ of this could be the result of loneliness from everything – the west side of Konoha, the limited chances she ever saw her friends outside of school, the oft-denied fact that her separation from her parents _really_ wasn't good for her; that it was what drew her to him, that it was flattering to have someone—some _boy _pay attention to her.

_Or, really,_ that small voice in her said, _it could just be Stockholm Syndrome._

Sakura paused to re-evaluate, then let herself laugh at that. He wasn't particularly holding her captive, and he hadn't made _that_ many threats on her life for her to seriously consider him as a merciful entity from whom her existence was based off.

_Now_ _you're being ridiculous_.

But, she remembered, as her soft snickering died down, and it was just her in her empty, lonely apartment again, he was _something_.

And she didn't particularly want to know what that something was.

Sakura got up, balanced her body against the door for support. Nothing hurt, not really, and the scrape of the knife on her neck was just a scrape – she could hide it with a scarf at school. Revisiting the scene in the alleyway _was_ scary, but it didn't bring up enough fear for her to break down in some post-traumatic stress disorder-induced hysteria – it was more something that made her tremble, left her shaken than anything else, which was both a relief and a vague, strange awareness that she really was less prone to breaking down and crying from these things (_because you're used to them?_)

There didn't seem to be time for that anymore – crying, when there was something else to be done, things that had to be sorted.

(_Hear, hear,_ she told herself.)

It wasn't until Sakura shrugged her shirt off, and was elbow deep in her soap-filled sink, trying to wash out the bloodstains, that she realized the reason why she hadn't been in complete fear of her life in the alleyway was because Deidara had been there, and even with a gun pointed at her and her captor holding her hostage, his words (_they won't get to you, un, I promise_) had stuck to her. She lifted the shirt from the water, ran a thumb over the stubborn bloodstains.

_You have_, she thought to herself,_ been complacent. Too complacent._

_Just because some boy looks at you and hangs around and buys you _dango_ and doesn't kill you_—

—_and bleeds in your shower, and tells you about birds—_

—_and pretty much teaches you how to _fly_ on a damn motorbike and Kiba couldn't manage that when you got a ride off him—_

—_and is the first to kiss you after he saved you, _right after_ he killed someone else who would have killed you, just so that he could save you—_

"—it doesn't mean anything."

There were no treacherous voices in her head now. Just herself, standing before a mirror, with her pale, trembling, wide-eyed reflection staring back.

Sakura shivered, and noticing that the blood would never wash out with soap and sheer effort alone, gave up and went over to peek out the window. The clouds were red as fire on the horizon, where she could see them between the grey, tall buildings. She remembered those clouds, had seen them somewhere before, as bright as the dawn against a surface as dark as the night.

She frowned. _Now_ she was just overthinking.

But it was getting late, and she had things to do – dinner to make, aquatic biology homework to complete, dark, shivery thoughts about criminals to put away.

She was shuffling through the minimal contents of her pantry, when the knock on her door came.

Sakura paused in calculating how little rice she could have to spread it over a few more days, and noted the knocking didn't cease, that it was the same, measured rhythm each time. Her hands shook a little when she wrapped a dishcloth around the handle of one of her smallest cutting knives, but she tucked it into her apron pocket securely. Surely the bulge didn't show too much.

She padded silently to the door, peered through, and _surprise, surprise!_ it was Uchiha Itachi on the other side. With one hand patting down the knife, she unlocked the latch and pulled the door open, forced the look of nervous apprehension onto her face.

"Uchiha-san," she started, "how… surprising to see you here."

He nodded in response, pushed into the doorway without a word. Sakura stepped back, watching him removed his shoes and put them away, ever the model of politeness, noticed how he kept his knives neatly tucked inside on the left side when his unbuttoned jacket fell open. She was getting used to seeing him become more disheveled – she was only hoping that it had nothing to do with her.

"I apologise," he began, catching her out of her reverie, "for interrupting your evening, Sakura-san."

He straightened up, removing his shades as he did so. He wasn't just disheveled, Sakura realized, he looked downright knackered. She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, eyes averted.

_Look innocent. You're completely innocent. _

"It's alright," she murmured, trying to mimic Hyuuga Hinata's soft-spoken, dulcet tones, "I was only making dinner. You haven't interrupted anything, Itachi-san."

He frowned – _not good, not good, not good_, she thought, alarms ringing in her head.

"Then I must apologise again," he continued, and out came the knife, faster than her eye could catch, faster than she could comprehend, out of his jacket in one instant and up against her neck, the flat on the blade cold on her skin, "and for this too."

**xXx**

In the instant the words "You are dismissed," came from Leader-sama, and the video conference screen went black, Deidara was out of the room and intent on getting to his workshop, getting all the C4 he could carry and getting Uchiha Itachi the fuck away from the west side of Konoha if he could still help it.

Sasori-danna caught him on the way out, caught a fistful of his jacket and slammed him back into the wall without flinching. "Where," he said, his flat voice belying the irritation in his face, "do you think you're going, Deidara?"

"_Out, yeah?" _he hissed, "Or I'm not allowed to that either anymore, is that it?"

"You're allowed out," Sasori said blasely, "but not to interfere with Itachi-san's proceedings."

"Fuck you," Deidara snarled, and caught a spray of Sasori's newest experiment in the face for it. He went down, hands clawing at his face, screaming anything that came to mind, anything about Suna, Sasori's family background, and his perceived androgyny.

"I don't mind," the poisons expert said, "but Itachi and I helped _bring_ you into Akatsuki. How you leave it, and what you do in it, are mostly up to us as well." He leaned down and pulled Deidara's hands from his face. "My newest: an enhanced version of capaiscin with allinases. Not antidote as of yet, but I'm certain you'll make it through with your sheer will alone – that's how you managed to deal with the Wax Flower, yes?"

Deidara didn't reply, his mouth opening, closing, gaping like a struggling fish outside of water.

"Don't speak," Sasori advised, "It affects that too—"

He was cut off when Deidara's fist thumped into his stomach, hardly effective enough to hurt.

"Perhaps I should include oxytocin and serotonin too, more pleasure drugs. What do you suppose Deidara? Surely you don't doubt a man of my caliber could make you something close enough to falling love?"

He stood, brushed his jacket off, looking down at the blond writhing on the ground. "Thirty minutes, Deidara. That should be enough. I'm certain you'll manage."

**xXx**

"You must understand," Itachi said, one hand at the back of her neck, cradling her head and bringing it forward to the knife, "that this is nothing personal."

Sakura couldn't move. Her tongue was stuck somewhere in her mouth and she knew she was gaping in horror and she couldn't do a _damn_ thing about it in her state of paralysis.

"I don't—" she started, stopping when she felt the press of the blade against her throat when she spoke, "—no, I don't understand—"

"I'm certain," Itachi said softly, the usual monotony in his voice replaced by coldness, deadliness, "that _this_," he applied pressure on the exact spot where the dead man had put the knife before, and Sakura's scream would have been heard by all her neighbours, had they cared to pay attention and had Itachi not sealed his hand against her mouth, "will be an effective reminder, Sakura."

He walked her backwards, until her hip hit the sharp edge of table, leaned forward until her back arched. The gun holster at his hip pressed against her leg; he brought his hand down from her mouth in time to see her cringe. She doubted it was necessary – he wanted to see that flicker of fear across her face, wanted to make sure he was completely in control now.

"Your presence and encouraging towards Deidara hinders him," he began, "and it displeases me." Without the shades, his eyes were different – less monster, more human. Sakura didn't want to know why she still paid attention to that, but Uchiha Itachi's eyes _seemed_ human when the knife fell away from her neck, and his hand went from the back of her neck to her shoulder, skimming down her ribs, until his fingers stroked the skin exposed by the tenseness of her body, between her shirt and waistband. The leather was cold against her skin, made her shiver, and as much as a sensible omnivorous person as she was, Sakura thought of Uchiha Itachi personally, meticulously skinning the dead animal himself.

"If you were hoping on finding his good graces and sleeping your way out of your bargain," Itachi continued, leaning forward to kiss her neck, mindful of her discomfort, "why choose that boy? Why not I?" She could catch the whiff of gunpowder and harsh strong soap (_industrial, military-issue, like lye, basic soda ash, for washing bloodstains perhaps?_) from him; if she inhaled harder, it would stick into her lungs, like secondhand smoke, toxic, infectious, with remnants as thick as tar.

"Have you no words for me, Sakura-san?" His leather-clad fingers stroked higher, and she shuddered, fighting the urge to grab his hand and push it away, knew what she had to do. She pressed back against him, the curve of her chest against the flat of his, mouth to his ear.

"You're very kind, Itachi," she murmured, her voice low, "but what I would like is for you to take the knife away from my back."

There was a lull, a moment when he hadn't expected his acting skills seen through, and Sakura used that moment (_opening on your side, he's not expecting this, catch him _unaware) to push herself sideways. It was a wasted moment – he curled his arm across her back, had thrown her down on her table, the edge sharp against her spine, and she did scream then, and he didn't stop it. It reverberated in apartment for a breath, less, enough for her neighbours to believe that any noise would _not_ be from murder, and then Itachi slammed his arms down, had her pinned under her sight and between his hands.

"You are clever, Sakura-san," he breathed, "but I don't believe that's enough to save you."

Her head spun – there were two, three Itachis in front of her, six angry eyes looking down at her. She groaned, twisted her head.

"I'm not—" she started, coughed, "I'm not someone with a fickle heart, _Itachi-san_."

She looked up him, focused, eyes watering but her gaze deliberate – _I know what you are now, and what you are is a monster._ "You asked for my loyalty and my silence. I've given it to you. Just because your partner reacts this way to the first shred of kindness he's ever gotten doesn't mean you can _treat _me like this."

She waited for the next disorientating blow to come, cringed and braced for it.

And it didn't.

Sakura inhaled, snuck a look at him.

Uchiha Itachi was impassive. He reached up, tilted her face towards his, and there was no kindness in his grip, but she didn't flinch. "Yes," he murmured, "I do command your loyalty. And your silence." His fingers tightened, and she did flinch at that. "No, no, look at me, Sakura-san. Should I regulate it too? How you treat Deidara, with the kindness he's never received?"

"You can't do that," she told him, blinking the tears from her eyes.

"Deidara is a criminal, Sakura-san. As am I. As is the rest of our organization. Do not expect him to be any different from I, nor for him to treat you any differently."

His words sank in, sharp.

_Why, yes,_ _he is a criminal. And he kills people. A lot of people. One today, right in plain sight, as a matter of fact._

"I'm aware," she said, "but he's never hurt me the way you did, never threatened me the way you do."

Itachi backed away. His face was unreadable, but Sakura considered that less of a concern – she scrambled away, ducking behind the couch in a hurry, without once taking her eyes off him.

_There's a knife in your apron,_ she chanted to herself, _there's a knife in your apron and you know damn well how to use it. _Never mind that he had many more than one kitchen knife, that she had seen his arsenal inside his clothing already – it wasn't until then that she had put serious thought beyond hating Uchiha Itachi and into killing him.

"Do not interfere anymore, Sakura-san," Itachi said, emotionlessly, after a pause, "Your cooperation has been appreciated thus far. It would not do to ruin it by yourself."

Sakura fumed internally, glared externally, and tucked her hand into her pocket, wrapped her fingers around the handle. Every urge to bury her measly, pathetic and most likely, effectively sharp kitchen knife into him rose when he turned his back to her, gathered his shoes up from her doorstep neatly.

"I wouldn't try, Sakura-san," Itachi said very softly, head tilted in her direction as he opened the front door by a fraction, "You wouldn't make it very far."

"Let a girl dream, Itachi-san," she returned, as measured and quiet as he was, "or would you go as far to command that as well?"

She thought she saw a muscle twitch in his cheek, the barest hint of a smirk on his face, before he slipped out.

Sakura waited, counted her breath, her heartbeats, heard nothing save for herself in the apartment. She looked between the door and the knife in her hand, breathed hard.

_It's not Itachi,_ she thought to herself, all her thoughts bordering onto darker things, wicked things, but she wandered into the bathroom and rammed the blade down into her bloodstained shirt anyway. Texture-wise, cotton and flesh were completely unlike – therapeutically in some way, she felt better for it.

The knife she set down beside the sink; the shirt she held up to the mirror, where in its butchered reflection, she could glimpse at her own face through where the cloth had ripped open.

_Well,_ the quiet dark voice she couldn't put a name to whispered, _it wasn't as if that blood was going to come out anyway._

**xXx**

Hoshigaki-san showed up on the next day, Sunday, when she had three duffel bags nearly filled with clothes, citizenship papers and almost all the box-cutters and kitchen knives she possessed. Sakura paused when she heard the knock at the door – three knocks: two fast, one slow – and shoved a few homework sheets over the top. If they looked, they might think nothing of it.

_Might._ She inhaled, resisted the urge to unpack a razor, tuck it into a pocket, and answered the door instead.

Hoshigaki, in all his blue-skinned oddity, was on her doorstep. He smiled, teeth flashing in the dim hallway light. "Haruno-san," he greeted, smile widening after she shuddered, shrank back a fraction, "may I come in?"

"… sure," she said, after calculating her chances of surviving this encounter. She didn't fail to notice the bulging plastic bag he had in hand – it was innocent-looking enough, but it was packed with parcels wrapped in white butcher's paper. Any association with butchery and Akatsuki brought to mind bad, _bad_ things, but she opened the door enough to let him through, and slammed it shut as soon as he had passed the threshold.

"You're jumpy today, Haruno-san," he observed, setting the bag aside to remove his shoes, "Weasels are slippery precocious creatures, I suppose."

Sakura froze, backed away.

Hoshigaki paused, looking up at her, and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "It's not about that, Haruno-san. I respect Itachi-san, but not necessarily his methods."

She didn't move, too fixated on the plastic bag, his never-faltering smile.

"I would have acted differently," he continued, lowering his hands, "but as Deidara-san's partner, Itachi-san is responsible for any factors that may have compromised their teamwork. You can understand his irrationality, surely, Haruno-san?"

Sakura found her voice eventually.

"No," she said quietly, looking at him dead in the eye, "no, I can't say I do, Hoshigaki-san."

He shrugged. "Even Uchiha Itachi can forget his control and act unlike himself."

She scoffed at that. "I doubt it, Hoshigaki-san," she replied, with yesterday's events and the bruises that appeared overnight fresh in her mind, "But what can I do for you today?" She nodded towards the bag – filled with narcotics, no doubt.

His smile widened. "Deidara tells me you're in need of remedying your biology studies after he interrupted it yesterday."

Sakura was thinking of every euphemism that could mean, when he grasped her by the shoulder with one hand, and with the white bag in the other, steered her into the kitchen. On the counter went the bag, and out came one long package wrapped in white butcher's paper, and out of that came—

"Fish?" Sakura blurted out, incredulously. She turned her head back, looked up at him, "You brought me a fish?"

"Aquatic biology, I believe. Or so Deidara-san said – a useful lesson either way, Haruno-san,"

Discretely noting which of Hoshigaki's smiles were of amusement, like it was now, or threat (for _business_), she gingerly lifted the tail, dropped it again with a slap.

"Thank you?" she ventured, "What do I do with this, Hoshigaki-san?"

"The fishmonger scaled it for you, but the gutting—" he ducked down, pulled out the cooking knife from her pantry, "—I leave to you." He handed the knife to her, not questioning why the majority of her knife block was empty. "And you'll need an apron, Haruno-san."

Sakura looked at the knife in her hands, and then to the blue-skinned criminal in her kitchen, holding out her apron to her.

"Excuse me?"

"No better way to learn the anatomy of a fish, Haruno-san. There's no need to be squeamish – there's not too much blood in there."

It was one of the more odder experiences in her life – a criminal teaching her to cut fish – Sakura decided, as he wrapped his hand around hers, taught her how to hold the knife properly, so that it didn't slip against the insides of the fish.

_Note,_ she repeated to herself, _the best way to hold the handle – no stress on the hand, or the wrist – and the angle you'll need to shove the knife into Hoshigaki-san's stomach if he tries to pull a gun on you._

"Head first," he started – _arm high, one straight cleave, divide the head from the body. _Sakura followed, finding the snap of breaking bone easier to deal with than she had expected.

"This here," he said, wedging his own knife under the gill flap, "are the gills. That, operculum. Some breathing functions here. There's some blood here – they need it for respiration. You'll want to cut here and here to clean the head when you cook it. You try."

The body next –_ slice along the belly, and lift the flesh up, open it up, carefully, _careful, _Haruno-san, you'll waste the meat. Bones here, you'll need tweezers to get rid of those if you're going to serve that to your parents—what's those, Haruno-san? Your future parents-in-law, then – they're terribly difficult to satisfy, I'm certain._

Sakura patted away the blood with a handful of paper, stood back when he pointed out the float-bladder, the liver, gall-bladder, intestines, the backbone, everything.

"You know this so well," she remarked, keeping her eyes on the parts of the fish he was telling her to remove, and on switchblade he left on the counter.

"I come from near the sea, Haruno-san," he said, amused, "Nothing of the likes that you've seen, I suppose – all lakes around Konoha?"

She nodded, slicing away the insides, feeling them squish in her hand. "Lakes and rivers," she confirmed.

"We should take you to see that one day," Hoshigaki said, voice distant, "Might be good to go home again."

Sakura filed away that information for later – where the strange shark-like man came from, and if what he said was a discrete threat.

"Throw that part away," he said, "It's not really something you'd want to eat, Haruno-san. The head – soup. Tail – bin. The rest—have you had lunch yet, Haruno-san?"

She peered over her shoulder at him. "Was this your way of getting me to make your lunch, Hoshigaki-san?"

"I did _buy_ the fish, Haruno-san," he pointed out, shrugging.

"Out of the goodness of wanting to teach, I thought," Sakura replied, fighting back a dry smile.

"Or from Deidara-san nagging me to death." Hoshigaki pulled out a carton of _miso_ paste from his bag – she didn't fail to notice that the bag was still full, that he wasn't offering to take anything else out from it. "Fried with _miso_ sauce please. Use innovation, Haruno-san – and no poison please, I'm quite immune to it all."

"No such intentions in mind," she drawled, "but my cooking is damn terrible as it is, I'm told, Hoshigaki-san."

Perhaps, Sakura considered, she could get away with food poisoning.

"I'll set the table, Haruno-san," he said, and walked out with the bag and no gastronomes at all.

Sakura fought the temptation to peer out the door – she remembered what happened when Itachi came over for tea. She focused on the fish instead, slicing the fillets down and patting them dry, coating it with liberal spoonfuls of _miso_ paste, and wondering if he would ask about the missing knives, or simply attribute it to her financial problems. If he had been the one to set Deidara's bombs in her apartment initially, he'd know the knife block was meant to be full.

_Deidara._

She felt a pang in her chest when she recalled his name, wondered if he was alright, if Hoshigaki claiming to help her with aquatic biology homework was just a ploy for free lunch before killing her. The fish went on the frying pan with a loud sizzle and spitting of oil – she danced back a few steps, thinking about cooking whatever was left of her rice to go with the fish, maybe vinegar to go with it, maybe closing the door so Hoshigaki wouldn't have an opening to shoot her in the back.

"It's burning," he remarked from the doorway, "I can smell it from the table, Haruno-san."

Sakura spun around with a yelp, and started flipping her fish with another.

"Not yet," she called, "If you peel off the—the top part, I'm sure it's still—" the fish was sticking _terribly,_ "—edible…."

She trailed off, wordless when he took the chopsticks from her hand and did it himself.

"Not too bad," he commented, "although I've forgotten to bring anything to set the table with, Haruno-san. Plates?"

She ducked down to get them, discretely keeping an eye on him and his hands, if he was going to tip anything powdered into the pan. The plastic bag was at the door, and it was emptier than when she had last seen it.

Sakura handed Hoshigaki the plates. "Chopsticks on your right," she informed him, "I don't have that many, though, and pretty much none of them have a proper match."

He took them from her, tipped the fish onto both, divided equally. They didn't look particularly poisoned, she thought.

"Needs rice," Hoshigaki said thoughtfully, "Take your pick, Haruno-san."

Sakura paused for a moment too long.

"Or I can close my eyes and you can switch them to however you want, and I'll pick one, Haruno-san."

"Please," she said. Hoshigaki's smile was dry this time, amused by her paranoia and attempts of self-protection, but still pandering to it.

Sakura hoped his fish was burnt.

**xXx**

Sitting down to her table to have tea with Uchiha Itachi was odd.

Sitting down to that same table to have lunch – meager and unbalanced as it was – with a blue-skinned stranger who only had one name was odder.

Sakura half-expected him to pull out a gun, a knife, anything, to do a repeat of the events that had transpired between her and Itachi after their teatime. Instead, Hoshigaki had sat down on the other side of the table, commented again on the lack of rice, called out a very polite _Itadakimasu_, and dug down into his lunch. There was too much _miso_, he told her at one point, or maybe there hadn't been anything to balance the taste out – no rice or condiments or soup, which was a shame really.

"Oh," she said, picking at her own fish. It wasn't that bad – a little crumbly, too much _miso_ indeed, but definitely not dry.

"I'll have _bonito_ next time, Haruno-san. Sashimi doesn't need that much added to it."

"I don't think I need that for biology," she muttered wryly.

"Culinary study then," Hoshigaki said, "although you seem to missing the proper knives, Haruno-san,"

Sakura stilled, flicking her eyes to his.

"I would not lie to you, Haruno-san," he said, setting his chopsticks down, "There is something to fear about Uchiha Itachi – there always is. But if you do not go against him, there is little to antagonize him."

She shook her head, screwing her eyes shut. "It wasn't my fault—I'm sorry if you don't believe me, Hoshigaki-san, but what happened—_it wasn't my fault._" Her throat clenched; she could feel tears building at her eyes: remembering Itachi, remembering how he had acted yesterday, it _hurt_ more than she wanted to admit to.

"Deidara-san is a good sort of kid, I guess," he continued, pondering aloud to the ceiling, "But if you reciprocate, he's not that well in the head. Sure, he might be happy if you make him happy, but if you don't…? Itachi-san might as well be worked up about another body to clean up when the time comes."

Sakura trembled, stifled a sob with a hand over her mouth, eyes clenched shut. "That's enough, please. Hoshigaki-san—please, please leave." She could hear the shuffle of a chair, Hoshigaki standing up.

"Thank you, Haruno-san," he said, "for the meal."

And like last time, he had a hand on her shoulder, some show of consolation that made her sick to the stomach – this false empathy or kindness or _understanding._ "I am certain," he said under his breath, "that if you keep Itachi-san satisfied, he would not bother you again."

After the door opened and closed again, and Hoshigaki was _gone, gone, thank god he's gone,_ Sakura got up, cleared the plates, and with a stingingly hot cup of tea, curled up on her kitchen floor and tried not to cry.

**xXx**

Sakura slept on the couch that night, after staying past midnight waiting. She kept the duffel bags packed, just in case, but she did take out the box-cutters and stuffed it between the cushions. More than one, as if it would make her any safer.

She woke after a dream about ravens and weasels and a gun pressed to her forehead, and it wasn't Sasuke she was shielding this time, it was Deidara. Nothing seemed to be amiss – it was too dark to be dawn, and it didn't feel as though she had slept for enough, because her eyelids still felt like lead weights – except there was the sound of another breathing beside her.

Sakura tucked a hand under a cushion, wrapped it around a box-cutter, breath bated.

"Hello?" she called out, into the dark. Her eyes were still adjusting, rods and cones still unfocused.

"You already know I'm here, un," Deidara replied somewhere in the darkness.

"Just checking," she said, her free hand over her racing heart. She didn't want to tell him she almost jumped out of her skin, that she was strangely relieved it was him, not Itachi, not Hoshigaki. "I'm—" she stretched a hand out, felt nothing but air, "I'm not sure where you are."

She heard the rustle of cloth, her fingers curving over his shoulder? his arm?, warm under her skin.

"Did Uchiha hurt you, un?" he said, voice rasping, blunt now when he had been discrete in the suburbs, after their (_not_) date, of sorts. She felt his gloved hand cup her cheek, shuddered deep to her bones at the memory of (_Deidara in the alleyway with his hands caught in her hair, Itachi pinning her down to the table, so ready to kill her at where she _stood) it.

"That's a yes, then," he concluded lowly.

"I'm alright," Sakura whispered, not leaning into his hand but not wanting it gone either, "He sounded angry. With you. Deidara?" She wasn't sure where he was still – she drew her legs up, bringing her blankets with her, and when she felt the couch groan with added weight, she stretched her legs back, balanced her feet on his knees where he sat.

"As good as you are, yeah?"

Another hand joined the first, skimming down her neck, across the dip of her collarbone. Sakura shivered, reached under a cushion and pulled her torch out. It burst into life with a soft click, but it was much louder than their breathing, than the silence between them.

Deidara blinked at her, his visible eye impossibly blue in the torchlight.

"I—um," she started, dropping the torch on the blanket, immersing both their faces in darkness again. She used both hands to grasp his wrists, in the space between the leather of his gloves and the cuff of his shirt, where his skin was warm and she could feel the pulse of his veins, "About yesterday… that—what was that?"

He pulled his hands away, reached for her again. "This, un?"

Sakura paused, breathed in the scent of gunpowder and cologne, before he kissed her, his fingers curling in her hair. Deidara was close, impossibly close – she could feel her eyelashes dust his skin, the loose strands of his hair brush her face.

He drew back suddenly.

"Yes," she agreed, "That. I'm not sure that—that this—"

"What did Uchiha tell you?" he cut in, fingers unwinding from her hair.

"That you're dangerous," she whispered, unsure on whether she should reach for him or not, "That you're a criminal. It's more a reminder than anything, really – and it's not like I ever forgot."

Deidara was silent for a moment too long. "Best you don't, un,"

She felt her breath catch in her throat. Clumsily, she stretched her hand out, grasping for him, holding on when she found something. "I should be terrified of you," she blurted out, "and I still sorta—no, really, still _really_ am. But…" she murmured, "but I'm not, not when you…"

Sakura swallowed hard, moved forward, up, her knees brushing against his thighs, kneeling up and over him. It wasn't quite so easy in the dark as she hoped it would be, but she mapped the outline of his face, tracing his jaw, his lips, brushing away his bangs. She kissed the curve of his cheek, the tip of his nose – she could hear him laugh under his breath from that, could feel it vibrate in her too – the corner of his mouth.

_Properly now,_ she scolded herself, tried to ignore how hard she was shaking, wondered if he could feel it too. _If you reciprocate, Haruno, reciprocate _properly.

She pressed to her mouth to his, her hands cupping his face, half-hesitant and unsure, trying to remember all the advice Ino had told her in a giggling fit. If it was book learning, she'd be better at it, and he was still and unresponsive, so that must be a bad thing—

—for a second and no longer, because she could feel him grasping at her waist, could feel him pull at her until he tugged her over his legs and into his arms. He pulled away from her, buried his face into her neck, lips moving against her skin.

"When I what, un?" he said, voice muffled in her neck.

"I'm not against it," she gasped, finding a hold in his shoulders, biting down on a yelp when he nipped her skin, "Not completely."

Deidara paused, hands moving, curving against her waist, her cheek. "Elaborate, yeah?"

She turned her head, caught the fingertip of one of his gloves between her teeth, tugged gently. "Mmhm," she hummed, tugging harder. "Technicalities. And these – off, please?"

He divested himself of the gloves quickly, and where the coolness of the leather had made her shiver, his warmth of his palms made her lean, press against him. She could feel the calluses on his fingertips, the roughened skin where those strange tattoos of _mouths_ were.

"I want," Sakura said, raising one of his hands to her mouth, pressing her lips to each finger, "to know about _this_," she kissed his palm, the outline of the mouth tattooed to his hand, "and about this," her hand fumbled in the dark, moving up his neck, under the veil of hair that obscured the mechanical device secured over his eye. "What that is. And… and how you got it. These things—all these things about you."

"You ask for a lot, un," Deidara commented, head arching back when she leaned forward, pressed her forehead to his. His breathing was warm on her mouth.

"I'm terribly curious," she laughed softly.

"Don't ask us about what we do, yeah?" he muttered, "Uchiha's been a grouchy bastard as it is."

Sakura paused, stiffened. He seemed to notice – he pressed kisses to her neck in response, and it wasn't as distracting as she hoped it would be.

"I'll have to keep away for a while, un," he said, "Just so they don't kill me for insubordination."

"Can I ask about that?"

"You can ask when I'll be back."

"When's that?" she whispered. She slid her hands down the slope of his shoulders, settled gingerly down onto his knees.

Deidara's hands stroked the curve of her spine.

"Not soon enough, yeah," he murmured, and tumbled her back down onto the couch.

**xXx**

Two minutes after entering the classroom, Ino yelled, "I want to know what you've done over the weekend, forehead!"

Sakura spluttered for ten seconds after that, and yelped immediately afterwards when Ino dragged her out, ignoring all her complaints about missing out on class and pointing out that Kakashi-sensei might _actually_ be on time this once.

"Spill it," the blonde announced after they both tumbled into the bathroom and Ino shooed off a group of junior students that had been smoking. She flapped her hand in a motion that might have been waving the smoke away or just brushing off all her spluttering and excuses. "It's been a perfect weekend, and you don't actually think I'll believe you _studied_ all the way through it, did you?"

"I need to make the scholarship," Sakura started, half-heartedly.

"You're _making_ the scholarship," Ino snapped, "You could make the scholarship with your eyes closed at this rate. Now _spill_."

Sakura clamped her lips shut.

Ino's eyes narrowed. "Do it," she ordered, "or I'll start guessing."

"Guess away, _pig_."

"You went home and bent yourself backwards trying to please your parents?" Ino began, then paused when her pink-haired friend flinched, like the wounds were still open. They most likely were, knowing the Haruno family. Sakura never really went back, only for birthdays and funeral anniversaries and the odd occasion one parent forgot to send the required monthly Youth Out of Home budget over. "You went off for a secret weekend away? In… Sunagakure? Umi no Kuni?"

"Nope."

"You had a tryst with a secret lover," Ino continued gleefully, most of her sensible options expired.

Sakura blinked, eyes flickering away.

"_You did not,_" she hissed, "What on earth—no, _not this year._ This is _finals_ year, and _cramming_ year, and _university applications_ year – you don't have time to—to muck around with some _boy_ that I don't even know about!"

She paused. "It _is_ a boy, right? I mean, I've known you for a long time, forehead, and I'm open to whatever it is you're into—"

Sakura whacked her on the shoulder. "_Boy."_

"Aha! You just confirmed it!" Ino cheered, grinning as wide as Naruto would. Her smile faded; she leaned against the sinks, arm folded, a frown on her face now. "It's not _Sasuke-kun_, is it?"

"_No._"

"God. Now I'm terrified – I mean, I'm happy you didn't steal him away from me—" Sakura rolled her eyes, "—but this guy? You better not have met him on your part of the city."

When she hesitated again, Ino jumped to her feet, gesturing wildly. "_What have you been doing?"_ she spluttered, using every minute of her drama classes to good use, "First you run off with some boy—"

"You make it sound like I'm _eloping,_" Sakura protested.

"—and it's some boy from _the west side,_" Ino spat out, like the words were lethal. "Nothing against _you_ living there, but anyone else? I wouldn't trust anyone else from that side of town, not unless they're some desperately poor student saving up on cash."

"Some of us desperately poor students make up the demographics," Sakura pointed out. "And he's not exactly _some boy_…" she muttered beneath her breath.

Ino caught it. "So he's older than you?"

Sakura flushed – it must have been a brilliant combination with her hair colour. "No—I mean, it's not nobody, it's just someone—"

—_who's a criminal, who bled in my shower, who tried to kill Sasuke-kun once—_

She swallowed.

"Sakura-chan?" Ino said, peering into her eyes, the concern genuine and evident.

"—someone you don't know," Sakura finished quietly.

_Someone whose relationship with you is near incomprehensible_.

Ino patted her hand motherly. "I wouldn't have started something in my last year of high school," she said, which was true, because Ino decided to have a new year's resolution and dumped her latest boyfriend just to prove she would knuckle down and get into her schoolwork, even if she was going to inherit her family's flower store someday – _I can study botany at uni, can't I?_ she argued – and it was also untrue, because she picked up her relationship with the moonstruck ex-boyfriend not a month later, "Just as long as you know what you're doing, forehead."

They were both in a moment of silence, fanning away the last dregs of smoke, before Ino added, "What sort of guy is this anyway? I mean, I'm not that serious about you having a secret weekend tryst with him – you don't have the guts or charm for that, forehead—" Sakura spluttered, flushed red again, "—but really? Tell me the _details_." Her voice dropped a little, that _hey, hey, did you hear?_ Ino gossip voice.

And what sort of _relationship_ – that little voice snickered again, as if it wasn't a relationship at all – did she have with him anyway? Sakura glanced up at the ceiling, counting the tiles, marked with smoke and peeling paint, remembering his warm, drugging kisses in the early morning, how he had reluctantly dragged himself away, saying he was meant to be delivering 'chessboards' on the other side of town.

_But,_ he had muttered, mouth on the side of her neck, _I'm much more amenable to this, un._

She certainly wasn't in love with him – and she doubted he was in love with her either.

What sort of freakish, drama-ish setup was that anyway?

He probably got some sort of thrill out of it – throwing caution to the wind, ignoring what his superiors said, or were meant to have said, if she even slightly believed what Hoshigaki or Uchiha Itachi said.

He probably wanted to get rid of her as soon as he was done.

Sakura shivered, shaking her head, as if that thought would fly out if she did so. She wasn't sticking around for that to happen – she was grabbing those duffel bags and heading straight off to Sunagakure if that happened. She could disappear for a while, if it was necessary – university could wait, as difficult as that idea would be, and (her heart ached a little) her friends could be confused and hurt for a while too, even if she hated the idea.

"He's from out of town," she said after a while, "and his eyes are like… the sky after rain, when all the clouds have cleared, I guess."

Ino stared at her. "What the _hell?_"

Sakura babbled something about the impossibility of Kakashi-sensei being _that_ late to class, and dragged Ino off, ignoring her demands on wanting to know more and on Sakura to stop being like a damn TV drama heroine with flowery purple prose. She had an excuse lined up when she reached the doorway – she had been sick with a terrible _stomach ache _that the teachers always understood to be not stomach aches, and Ino had helped her to the nurse's room so that they had left their bags behind in their haste – and then the door slid open to reveal Tobi-sensei.

"You're awfully late, Sakura-chan, Ino-chan," he said reproachfully, voice muffled behind his mask. "But never mind that – Tobi-sensei understands." He shooed them in, slid the door shut seconds off from catching Ino's uniform in the gap. "Kakashi-sensei is away today, so if you would continue doing the work he set for you last time…"

Sakura scurried to her seat, not forgetting the first time Tobi-sensei had shown up in school. The orange mask was still present, as was his ever-present _weirdness_. She unpacked her books, catching Sasuke's eye as he looked up from the textbook. Sasuke had a look about him that suggested he didn't trust their substitute teacher either, although his reasons were much different than hers – Sasuke simply didn't trust people who refused to show their faces, an opinion that had been there since the days where the Uchiha ruled over the Police Force and his own self-awareness to keep away from criminals had been brought on from an early age. Meeting Shino ages ago had been a _big_ problem, Sakura remembered.

He flicked an origami crane in her direction. She caught it in a cupped hand, tucked it under the desk.

Flipping through her textbook in one hand, and being very aware that Tobi-sensei was staring in her general direction, Sakura undid the crane gingerly with her other hand. She peered down, pretending to study the diagram at the bottom of the page, squinting to read the neat handwriting on the crumpled paper – _some kids in class trying to start a petition to get rid of him. I want to know what's been happening to Hatake so often to warrant his disappearance. You in, Sakura?_

Sakura scribbled down notes on the finding of Konoha, and the rivalry between the founder and some early clan, and bobbed her head up and down, exaggerating her need to look between text- and workbook.

_Yes._

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sasuke smirk in approval.

**xXx**

Somehow, Sasuke had roped Naruto into his weird, espionage-y plans too, and while Sakura appreciated Naruto's support and enthusiasm (but not his attempts to outdo Sasuke in whatever they did together), they were much more likely to be caught as a three-man team now.

"It'll be alright, Sakura-chan," Naruto whispered to her, after he had picked the lock to the principal's office. "The whole teacher lounge loves what you're doing for the school's academic rep anyway."

"There's Shikamaru too," she whispered back, wondering when Naruto had gotten so good at picking locks, after they had starting feeding him to stop him from robbing the school cafeteria to feed himself, on occasions when the same youth services Sakura answered to 'forgot' to give him a basic budget to buy food.

"Great. We'll blame it on pineapple-head—_ow, Sasuke!_ What was that for, bastard?"

"You're being loud, dead-last," Sasuke muttered, "And don't worry. We're not _going_ to get caught."

Sakura really, _really_ hoped he was right. She was left to guard the door – how terribly unexciting, as if being a girl meant she couldn't do as much – while Sasuke flipped through all the personnel folders and Naruto went through computer files.

"Mute it, idiot!" Sasuke hissed, when the computer made an error noise.

Sometimes, she wondered why Sasuke was going to go through all the metal cabinets, possibly making much less noise than Naruto would, if Naruto would crash the computer by accident instead. The files were probably all password-locked as it was, she pondered, and if the office administration were any sort of smart, they'd probably used those fingerprint ID pads that the newest computers were equipped with now—

—a shadow passed through the window.

She ducked down, waved frantically at the boys. They disappeared behind the principal's desk; she crawled quickly against the adjacent wall, tucked herself beside a filing cabinet. She held her breath when the intruder – well, _they_ were the intruders really – turned the knob, heard the door rattle—

—and hold. Naruto had locked the door behind them – something Sasuke wouldn't verbally be grateful for, but appreciated nonetheless.

Sakura counted to ten, and again, waving to the other two when the coast was clear.

"Still good," she whispered. "But hurry up, teacher's meeting might be over any second now."

"Hope not," Naruto said, fingers tapping on the keyboard. "Aha!" he announced, at the very moment Sasuke pulled out a manila folder with a smirk.

"… I got there first," was the unanimous hiss.

"Just _hurry_," Sakura wailed.

"It's password-locked," Naruto whined, joy deflating, "And classified."

"Mine's open," Sasuke said, thumbing through his folder. He paused at a few pages, whitened more than ever.

"Sasuke-kun?"

"Yeah, bastard, what's up with you?"

Sasuke didn't stop, speed-reading as thoroughly as he could. His mouth thinned, the further along he went. In less than a minute, he was at the end – it hadn't been a particularly thick folder, but the contents must have been riveting, if it had make Sasuke look like _that._

"Let's go," he commanded, shoving the folder back to its proper place.

"I don't understand why we needed to do _that_ to figure out why Kakashi-baka's skipped a few days of class," Naruto muttered after they snuck out and dawdled in the corridors as innocently as they could. "What's he got in there, anyway? Schedules of all his absent days? Complaint letters about those _Icha Icha _books he's got?"

Sasuke was still tense, still paper-white.

"No," he muttered, eyes moving all over the corridor, voice low enough for the three of them but no one else, "No, but his files say he's ex-ANBU."

Naruto frowned, and Sasuke looked like he had a headache, but Sakura didn't quite understand – _yes, _Kakashi-sensei had a dangerous background that none of them knew of, and _yes_, Kakashi-sensei being formerly part of Konoha's more secretive and deadly government military forces was a shock to her too, but the relevance? He'd be teaching at Konoha Academy for years – there were year photos of him dating back to ten years ago, and the mask had been ever-present then too.

"Wait," she muttered, "how _old_ is Kakashi-sensei?"

No one had really known, what with his shock of white-grey hair – not dyed, he insisted.

"No clue," Sasuke said, "but what I want to know is why he's been _gone_ to warrant a substitute teacher being here for so long." He looked up at them, his eyes burning. "What on earth could be going on in Konoha to have them call a history teacher back into military service right now?"

"You don't know he's been back in ANBU service," Naruto pointed out, "You're making an assumption there, Sasuke-teme, and a damn huge one too."

"It's not an exaggerated one," he shot back.

"But it's an unfounded one," Sakura added, placating the two with a snap. "Naruto, Kakashi-sensei's always been a little odd. We can't pretend his… history's not relevant to this. Sasuke-kun, we don't even know if he's _sick_ and bedridden, so we can't pretend he's actually a government assassin either." She hesitated to herself, paused. "What makes you think something's going on anyway, Sasuke-kun?"

"Council re-elections," Sasuke muttered, "Cabinet reshuffle. They don't think Sarutobi's going to make it again this year – they say he should be going to a retirement home instead."

Naruto looked away – they all knew how invaluable the Sandaime Hokage, current leader of Konoha, as it had been for the years before the election of the Yondaime Hokage and the years after his mysterious disappearance, had been to funding money for the orphanages in the city. Naruto certainly appreciated it – the Sandaime Hokage had personally fished him out of the orphanage, along with a handful of other bullied children, declaring that the social workers program needed an overhaul if neglected children for overlooked and uncared for.

Sakura curled her hand into Naruto's, tugging his head against her shoulder comfortingly. She tugged him down to the floor, where Sasuke settled against his side.

The silence was enough.

"Who's the new guy?" Naruto asked, after a moment.

"Someone called Danzou," Sasuke said, not complaining about the huddle, despite him being very against group hugs, "He's been on the shadow cabinet for years."

"I think I've heard of him," Sakura said. "I don't like him that much either…" To Naruto: "I'll get us some fake IDs – we'll sneak into an election centre, put as many ballots for Sarutobi-ojii-san as we can."

"That'd be good," he said gloomily, "I should go thank him, I guess, for everything."

"Yes," Sasuke said towards the ceiling. Sakura echoed his agreement. They were like that, just the three of them in their moment of silence, before the bell screamed and the lunch hour ended. They got to their feet, brushing their clothes off.

"I need to find Ino-chan first," Sakura lied, fully intending to skip class to find out more about this Danzou candidate. She threw a nonchalant wave behind her, skidding off in the direction of the library – there were a million questions popping up in her mind right then, and only a few she could even guess a good answer to: _Danzou_ being a name that seemed strangely familiar, and if not to her, then to Sasuke, who was awfully twitchy today; Tobi-sensei and Kakashi-sensei, who were always coolly civil to each other, and she doubted it was about being the better history teacher; and all of this being related to _government re-elections_? That just seemed ridiculous—

"Sakura-chan," came the call from behind her – someone familiar.

She braked, shoes squeaking her haste, and spun around to look back behind her.

Tobi-sensei – _oh, eesh,_ that inside voice squeaked in fury, _he's around everywhere_ – stood behind her, one hand outstretched. They were the only ones in the corridor.

"_Sensei?_" she replied evenly.

"You've dropped this," he said, stepping towards her. His footsteps thudded on the flooring. Nestled in his gloved palm – _black leather gloves_, she noted, and where had she seen that so commonly now? – was a clay bird.

"Oh," she murmured. Beneath her calm, grateful smile, her heart was racing, was almost about to fly out. With a hand outstretched, she looked Tobi-sensei in the vicinity where his eyes would be, if not for the clunky orange mask, widened her smile sweetly. "Thank you," she added.

He didn't hand the bird over.

"You should be careful with these things, Sakura-chan," he went on, as if she had said nothing at all, "Delicate things like these – they break so easily."

Sakura blinked at him, dumbfounded.

"But here you go, Sakura-chan," Tobi finished, cheerful now, "Take good care now!"

He deposited the bird in her hand, the tips of the glove brushing her fingers, and with a small bow, a murmur of gratitude, and a half-suppressed shudder, Sakura spun back around and fled.

Two hallways down, she ducked behind a wall, gasping for breath – _what's going on?_ she hissed to herself, eyes screwed shut and the heel of her palm shoved against her mouth to stop any scream breaking loose. She recognized Deidara's clay birds – she had to at this rate, and she definitely didn't stash them in her schoolbag. Why _Tobi-sensei_ knew about them confirmed her worst fears – why it had anything to do with Kakashi-sensei disappearing (_like the dead!_ came the horrified shriek from in her) was still terrifyingly unknown. The corridor was eerily silent – no Tobi-sensei, no students, nobody. Prying her hand away from her mouth and dropping her head back against the wall with an exhausted thud, Sakura reorganized her thoughts – something might be happening to Deidara right now, if Tobi's ominous little speech was anything to go by.

She looked to the bird cradled in her hand. It looked like the other ones he made, and (she realized, with a sudden twist in her gut) she didn't know if it was rigged or not. Her stomach sank a little bit more when she noticed the only obvious defect to it – unlike its brethren, this one had a deep fracture around the base of its head, like a crooked necklace.

_Reading a bit into it, aren't we?_ said the cool, skeptical voice.

Sakura pursed her lips, poked at it gingerly – the fracture widened, the clay cracking, and off came its whole head. She floundered, shrieking suddenly – the bird didn't detonate, and she was definitely taking the whole foreshadowing thing a little too seriously, but Tobi-sensei – who might as well be part of Akatsuki, for all she knew now – _hand-delivering_ Deidara's signature figurine, which was also now beheaded, to her?

She inhaled, and with every fragment of clay gathered in her hands, ducked outside and ran to the congested pond at one of the further ends of the school grounds. She didn't know a better place to put potentially-explosive things, and with the time she had on hand, the pond was thick with duckweed and mosquito nests and litter, built up over the years, and if something was going to detonate (on a small scale, she prayed), she rather it be there than in a garbage truck on its way to landfill.

No one had seen her, it seemed – she brushed her hands off and hurried back to the buildings, and after throwing one last hasty glance behind her—

—Sakura ran face-first into Kakashi-sensei's chest.

"You're out of class," he observed calmly.

"_Sensei!_ You're—I'm, er—this is—"

"—an accident, and you're heading back to your room right now," he finished for her. "Off you go, Sakura – I'm sure your class misses you."

He stepped past her, hands tucked into his pockets, his walk nonchalant. Sakura took a deep breath, weighed her options and considered what Sasuke would have done, and spun around and called after him.

"Actually—Kakashi-sensei, _wait_, I… I wanted to ask," she spluttered, "where you've been for the last few weeks."

He stopped, back stiff, but when he looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes were cheerful. "I've been terribly late for everything," he told her, "and I've been overusing all my holiday allowances and sick leaves."

"Oh," she muttered, watching him leave. "I'll see you in class soon!" she called.

"Actually," Kakashi added, "I'll probably not be back for a while. I'm sure my replacement is a perfectly acceptable substitute. And he's not as late too," he ended, pondering. "Until then, Sakura."

Sakura waved him off, not sure if she wanted to confirm to Sasuke his worst suspicions. She watched his departing back, wondered if he had a lot of bulky sweaters and he wore them all at once, or if it was a flak jacket or Kevlar vest he had on.

She wandered off to the library, the questions still spinning around in the back of her mind, and when she sat down to a computer and rummaged around for her school ID card, her fingers wrapped around a second clay bird at the base of her bag. It hadn't been baked, or it hadn't be been fired well, and its head crumbled off, but this time – perhaps – it had been deliberate. Tucked inside the neck was a rolled up slip of paper, its length as long as her middle finger.

_Out of town,_ read the untidy scrawl, _see you in a while, Sakura-chan._

Sakura let herself smile, just barely, and tucked the note into the waistband of her skirt, Deidara's words warm against her stomach. The fluttery, warm sensation she had – the exact feeling she had that morning when she had her fingers carded in his blond hair and his jacket blanketed over her bare shoulders, when she had pinned him down, knees pressed at either side of his hips, and her mouth pushed down to his, swallowing down the taste of _sake_ and his muffled, delighted laughter and _Deidara_ – died down when she found out exactly it was that Danzou stood for.

**xXx**

_It's alright,_

_(hold on tight)_

_Let me be the one for you,_

_And today is the day to start._

**xXx**

**

* * *

**-**  
**

I don't have anything to say, except things in life are going to pieces right now, and – spoilers, spoilers! – what on earth is going on with the manga right now? I did a virtual wallbanger when Kishimoto undid about two years of Sakura's character development just by saying she realized her place was to watch Sasuke and Naruto have at it, and do nothing else towards the structure of Team 7. (To compensate, I had a few paragraphs of Team 7 being sneaky wannabe-ninjas, and no, that was not my preference of Team-7-happy-funtimes-together snuck inside there. Not at all.)

That said, on manga-relevant details: Deidara wins this triangle, because he died first (and got zombie-resurrected recently, whatever that means) and Itachi jumped the shark with his post-death revelations and I don't know how to characterize him anymore (which might explain this chapter being bad) and there's plenty more ItachiSakura authors than DeidaraSakura authors nowadays it seems (I am keen on SwiftKick, 'kay?) so you guys go off and satisfy your 'fic cravings there. I bet I've lost half my readership right there.

On tying in all the neat Kishimoto-sucks-at-politics details in: I could barely wrap my head around the whole Uchiha and the first Hokage rivalry thing, except that it cements Kishimoto being very 'Sasuke and Naruto have entwined destinies like whoa—third teammate? What third teammate?'. I'm trying my hardest, despite the recent big reveals.

Lyrics from CORE OF SOUL, whose music I really liked, even though they disbanded and all. I promised fish, and there were fish – I also promised kissing, and that actually went overboard, but I can't avoid the fact I suck at romance anymore. I'm not promising frequent updates, so take out the rage on a poor voodoo doll please. It's also been a while since I've written anything, so my writing style's challenged terribly – I apologise if it's not your cup of tea, and if so, I'll send Itachi over to pin you to a table and threaten your life. (Kidding.)

To everyone who is actually still reading this (who is, actually, at this rate?): thank you. Because words are the only things a writer has sometimes, and while I am not a writer, the words you leave (preferably with correct grammar and spelling and punctuation) mean a lot. (Add me on LiveJournal or FB sometime – life gets lonely and I don't mind talking to someone on my very lonely occasions.) Thank you to Lady Hanaka, who drew something apparently? (:

Does anyone want more music?


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